CANVASSING, 


A    TALE. 


THE  O'HARA  FAMILY, 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  "MAYOR  OF  WIND  GAP. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
CAREY,    LEA,    &    BLANCHARD 
1835. 


CANVASSING 


CHAPTER  I. 


Lord  Glenville  and  Lord .Warringdon  were  lounging  together 
over  a  fashionable  late  breakfast. 

"  Recollect,  Warringdon,  you  are  to  be  with  Cropper  and 
Baines  by  four  this  morning,  to  hear  about  that  girl." 

"  Time  enough,"  replied  Lord  Warringdon,  carelessly. 

"__You'll  let  her  slip  through  your  fingers,  as  you  are  going 
on  ;  I  see  that  very  plainly." 

"  Probably,"  rejoined  the  son  :  "  luckily,  she  is  not  the  only 
heiress  to  be  found  in  the  city.  Besides,  to  confess  the  truth, 
I  am  in  no  hurry  to  run  my  neck  into  the  noose,  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"7/","  replied  the  father,  significantly. 

"I  think  that  the  heir  to  a  hundred  thousand  a  year,  well 
paid,  and  but  slightly  encumbered,  tnight  help  it,"  retorted  the 
son. 

"/think,"  observed  the  father,  "  that  five  thousand  a  year 
is  a  tolerably  fair  allowance  for  presents  to  opera  people,  and 
douceurs  to  ladies'  maids." 

"  Not  when  ninety-five  thousand  is  not  found  too  much  for 
the  same  purpose,"  retorted  the  son  with  a  sneer.  " 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  Warringdon,"  replied  Lord  Glenville, 
affecting  not  to  hear  the  foregoing  remark;  '^'  you  cannot  have 
money  in  every  way:  you  quite  forget  that  your  two  last  con- 
tested elections  cost  me  fifty  thousand  pounds,  besides  having 
had  to  pay  back  all  the  money  you  won  on  that  cursed  Twick- 
enham party ;  and  then,  the  rascally  newspapers ;  recollect  all 
it  cost  me  to  make  them  hold  their  tongues.  1  assure  you,  I 
had  to  pave  your  way  out  of  that  business  with  bank-bills.     I 


4  CANVASSING. 

often  told  you  that  one  should  never  undertake  a  thing  of  the 
kind,  unless  one  had  nerve  to  go  through  with  it.  Better  never 
win,  unless  you  make  up  your  mind  to  fight  the  man,  if  he  ob- 
jects to  the  fairness  of  the  transaction.  Don't  you  see,  War- 
ringdon  ?" 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  spare  me  that  irksome  subject ;  we  have 
already  gone  over  the  ground  so  often,  that  I  know,  by  heart, 
all  you  would  say.  I  have  before  assured  you,  that  I  shall 
never  attempt  recruiting  ray  finances  again  in  that  way.  With 
respect  to  the  obligation  you  would  fix  on  me,  for  arranging  the 
affair,  you  must  pardon  my  not  seeing  the  business  in  the  same 
li^ht ;  had  you  honoured  my  draughts,  I  should  not  have  been 
driven  to  such  extremities."  And  so  saying,  his  lordship 
pushed  his  cup  from  him,  and  threw  back  his°handsome  head 
with  an  air  of  languid  haughtiness. 

His  father  glanced  at  him  a  moment,  without  speaking,  and 
then,  smiling  coldly,  observed,  '"  Raison  de  plus,  my  good  fel- 
low, for  looking  after  the  heiress." 

Their  tete  a  tete  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  foot- 
man with  the  morning  papers,  and  a  packet  of  notes  and  letters. 
A  silence  of  some  minutes  ensued,  which  was  broken  by  Lord 
Glenville. 

'*  Who  is  that  letter  from,  Warringdon  ]" 

"  Which  ;  this  ?"  answered  his  son  ;  pointing  to  one  he  had 
just  carelessly  thrown  aside,  of  which  the  delicate  hue,  exqui- 
site odour,  and  lightly-traced  and  undefined  characters,  breathed 
womanly  grace  and  frivolity, — "  Oh,  aye  ;  this  is  from  the  pret- 
tiest woman  in  London.  I  am  not  going  to  make  you  my  con- 
fessor, though. 

"  No,"  said  Lord  Glenville  ;  "  the  other  letter." 

"  That?  Oh,  that's  from  the  next  prettiest  woman  in  London. 
I  did  think  her  the  prettiest  dajis  le  bon  vieux  temps,  a  fortnight 
ago." 

"  No,  no ;"  said  his  father  impatiently ;  "  the  letter  you  have 
there  in  your  hand." 

"  Here  it  is  for  you,"  answered  Lord  Warringdon,  tossing 
it  towards  his  father;  "I  have  not  read  it  myself,  yet;  but  it 
will  keep  cool,  I  dare  say." 

^  '*  Ah,  very  good  ;"  observed  Lord  Glenville,  as  he  cast  his 
eye  over  the  epistle  ;  "  I  wonder  you  did  not  tell  me  of  this  be- 
fore, my  dear  Warringdon." 

"  How  the  deuce  could  I,  when  I  had  not  read  it  ?  What's 
it  all  about  ]" 

"  It  is  from  Wilmot." 


CANVASSING.  5 

"Who  the  devil  is  he?"  inquired  Lord  Warringdon. 

"  Wilmot !  Why,  don't  you  recollect,  you  wrote  to  canvass 
him,  the  other  day?  Wilmot,  of  Castle  Wilmot,  in  the  half- 
unreclaimed  Irish    county  of  ;   the   husband  of  Lady 

Anne,  Lord  Rochford's  daughter; — you  recollect,  don't  you  ]" 

"  Oh,  aye  ;  1  remember,  now  ;  what  does  he  say  T" 

"  I  may  as  well  read  it  for  you,"  answered  the  father. 

"  Ah,  no,  tell  it  for  me  :  1  hate  the  reading,  or  hearing  read, 
a  stupid  letter  on  business,"  replied  the  son. 

"  Well,  he  says  that  he  will  be  most  happy  to  give  you  his 
interest;  he  has  I  do  not  know  how  many  thousand  votes  at 
your  disposal  ;  and  is  very  glad  that  you  look  to  a  county  in 
which  your  family  have  so  large  a  stake,  and  so  forth ;  and  con- 
cludes by  begging  you  to  make  his  house  your  head-quarters  : 
— very  civil,  is  it  not?" 

♦*  Yes,"  replied  his  son,  yawning;  "very  great  bore,  though, 
to  have  to  go  there, — drink  whisky-punch,  and  have  my  ears 
torn  to  pieces  by  their  infernal  brogue." 

«'  Very  true,"  remarked  Lord  Glenville;  "  you  cannot,  how- 
ever, have  the  people's  votes  without  taking  a  little  trouble 
about  them." 

"  If  you  would  l^t  me  sit  for  one  of  your  boroughs,  though, 
I  should  be  spared  all  this  annoyance.  Do  you  know,  1  have 
half  a  mind  to  pitch  Wilmot,  of  Castle  Wilmot,  and  his  cursed 
county,  to  the  devil  V 

"  Do  so,  if  you  like,  my  good  fellow  ;  but  how  long  do  you 
expect  to  be  out  of  the  King's  Bench  after  you  have  performed 
that  feat  ?  As  for  the  boroughs,  I  have  already  told  you  that  I 
have  sold  them,  for  this  time  ;  I  wanted  money, — so  there's  an 
end   of  them  till   next  parliament.     You  will  walk  over  the 

course,  in Wilmot  says;  what  more  do  you  want  than  to 

be  in  parliamenf?  but  it  is  your  affair,  not  mine.  I  wish,  my 
dear  Warringdon,  you  would  condescend  to  listen  to  me,  and 
play  with  your  brute  some  other  time." 

Lord  Warringdon  had  been,  in  fact,  amusing  himself  watch- 
ing his  superb  St.  Bernard's  dog,  tearing  one  of  the  billets,  re- 
ceived that  morning,  into  as  many  pieces  as  his  noble  master 
had  done  the  feelings  of  its  fair  writer.  "  Ha,  Monk,  you  ras- 
cal, you  have  been  worrying  the  wrong  letter;  what  a  teaze!  I 
did  not  half  read  it,  either :  so  I  don't  know  now,  whether  it  is 
to-day,  or  to-morrow,  that  he  takes  himself  off  to  his  fair  Terp- 
sichore; leaving  his  belia  Tradita  to  be  cheered  by  his  Jido 
Amico.  Capital,  is  it  not,  Monk,  my  boy?  but  if  I  should  go 
the  wrong  day  :  what  the  devil  then  ?  Why,  it  will  be  your 
1  * 


^-^  .*"v  <•"& 


6  CANVASSING. 

fault,  not  mine;  and  that's  sonoe  comfort,  as  times  g-o.  Jesting 
apart,  hiowever,  it  is  a  nuisance  ;  I  thought  the  fellow  was  tear- 
ing- only  my  love's  letter,  and  it  turns  out  to  be  ray  last  love's; 
a  great  bore,  is  it  not]"  asked  this  son  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, of  his  father. 

"  ^^'  arringdon,  the  subject  upon  which  I  am  speakinor  to  you 
is  really  a  very  serious  one ;  and  rny  advice,  if  you  would  please 
to  attend  to  it,  might  be  of  some  importance  to  you." 

The  modern  father  did  not  think,  it  appears,  that  a  love  affair 
with  a  married  woman  was  an  event  requiring  his  paternal  in- 
terference, "  But  I  cannot  talk  with  you  while  you  look  so 
listless  ;  do  sit  down,  I  beg  of  you,  and  favour  me  with  a  few 
moment's  notice." 

Lord  Warringdon  threw  himself  into  a  Bergere,  and  his  fa- 
ther proceeded. — "  A  canvass  among  these  hot-headed  Irish 
needs  some  care,  I  assure  you  ;  j'^ou  must  lay  aside  your  apathy, 
your  exclusiveness,  your  indifference,  whether  you  offend  or 
not,  and  for  once  in  your  life  you  must  try  to  please. 

"  Must  I  ]" — exclaimed  his  son,  stretching  out  his  finely- 
turned  leg,  and  examining  it  wuth  complacency. 

The  father  did  not  notice  the  interruption  and  continued. — 
"  Wilmot  has  the  first  interest  in  his  county,  and  has  repre- 
sented it  before  now ;  but  he  is  at  present  under  embarrass- 
ments, I  hear ; — a  sad  fellow,  for  getting  through  money,  as  all 
his  compatriotes  are; — over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  and  obliged 
to  play  hide-and-seek  occasionally  with  his  creditors,  but  in 
Ireland,  that's  nothing,  you  know, — then  his  wife." — 

"  Have  mercy  on  me,"  interrupted  Lord  Warringdon,  "  are 
you  going  to  give  me  the  man's  pedigree  and  private  history, 
as  if  I  wanted  to  write  his  life." 

"  She  has  the  name  of  being  a  great  match-maker,"  continued 
Lord  Glenville ;  "  and  when  she  was  here  some  years  ago,  was 
very  busy  m" — 

"  What  the  deuce  is  all  that  to  me?"  asked  Lord  Warring- 
don. 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  to  you  ; — she  has  daughters." 

"  She  might  have  a  hundred,  for  anything  I  care ;"  observed 
the  young  Yiscount,  again  yawning. 

"  One  of  them  is  very  handsome,"  continued  Lord  Glenville, 
"and  clever  ;  now  I  would  caution  you." 

"Against  falling  in  love  with  her,  is  it?"  interrupted  the 
son,  with  a  languid  laugh.  "  No  fear  of  that,  I  promise  you — 
I  hate  clever  women,  you  know,  and  make  it  a  rule  never  to 
fall  in  love  with  any  beauties  but  married  ones." 


CANVASSING.  7 

"  I  know  ;  but  take  care,  on  the  other  hand,  how  you  assume 
a  prickly  air,  towards  them  ;  for  that  would  not  do  either — you 
must  admire  the  daughter's  charms,  or  you  will  lose  the  father's 
votes." 

"  Never  fear ; — once  in  for  the  thing,  I  will  go  through  it 
properly — I  will  be  dazzled  with  their  brilliancy;  captivated 
with  their  accomplishments; — and  driven  mad  by  their  beauty. 
— Oh,  these  cursed  accomplished  beauties  ! — the  brogue,  and 
bad  roads,  are  nothing  in  comparison.  French,  Italian  and  mu- 
sic, conchology,  phrenology,  and  mineralogy; — with  a  dash  of 
algebra,  and  animal  magnetism,  concluding  with  an  interlude 
of  astronomy  and  mathematics.  There's  a  bill  of  fare,  enough 
to  strike  terror  into  any  heart  but  that  of  an  Electioneerer,"  and 
so  saying,  he  arose,  called  his  dog,  hummed  a  Mazurka,  and 
sauntered  out  of  the  room. 

A  few  days  afterwards  he  was  in  his  travelling  chariot,  roll- 
ing off  to  Holyhead  ;  we  cannot  better  employ  our  time  while 
he  is  on  the  road  than  by  giving  some  idea  of  the  family  who 
are  about  to  be  honoured  by  his  presence. 


CHAPTER  H. 

Mr.  Wilmot,  of  Castle  Wilmot,  was  what  is  termed  in  Ire- 
land, a  capital  fellow  ; — good  natured,  careless,  and  extrava- 
gant. The  owner  of  an  estate,  like  most  old  Irish  ones,  a  little 
the  worse  for  the  wear,  and  living  away,  like  most  such  pro- 
prietors, as  if  the  said  estate  was  spick  and  span  new ; — in  a 
word,  just  the  man  to  be  loved  and  robbed  by  an  Irish  tenantry 
and  household.  He  had  been  residing  abroad  for  some  years 
and  had  just  returned  home  to  "  retrench"  as  he  says,  now  that 
he  is  first  introduced  to  the  reader.  But  alas  !  the  claret,  cham- 
pagne and  Burgundy,  continue  to  be  poured  forth  as  liberally 
as  if  he  were  still  in  the  land  of  the  vines.  There  was  a  se- 
cond table  in  his  establishment,  as  expensive  as  the  first ;  nay, 
a  third  and  a  fourth,  which,  though  less  delicate  in  the  quality 
of  their  aliments,  made  up  the  diflference  in  the  quantity  con- 
sumed. An  ox  a  week,  and  three  sheep  a  day,  was  the  mini- 
mum of  provision  disposed  of  in  the  kitchen,  and  servants'-hall  ; 
and  all  other  things  were  on  the  same  "  grandee"  scale  of  ex- 
penditure.    His  house  was  always  thronged  with  guests ;  high 


9  CANVASSING. 

and  low,  rich  and  poor;  all  had  ^'•cead  millefaUha'''  at  Castle 
Wilmot.  The  consequences  of  such  a  system  may  be  easily 
guessed.  Lady  Anne,  unable  to  stop  her  husband's  wild  pro- 
fusion, at  last  contented  herself  with  turning  it  to  some  purpose, 
and  as  he  would  have  his  house  filled  with  company,  she  took 
care  there  should  be  a  fair  proportion  of  marrying  men,  at  a  cer- 
tain 'ratio  of  fortune.  By  these  means,  she  had  already  got 
three  daughters  off  her  hands  ;  and  she  blessed  her  stars,  and 
so  did  all  who  knew  her,  that  she  had  but  two  remaining;  for 
Lady  Anne's  reputation  as  a  match-maker,  had  rendered  her 
the  terror  of  mothers  who  had  sons,  and  the  envy  of  those  who 
had  daughters. 

No  expense  had  been  spared  on  the  education  of  the  Miss 
Wilrnot's.  Mr.  Wilmot's  residence,  whether  in  London  or  on 
the  Continent,  had,  from  their  infancy,  been  besieged  by  Mas- 
ters and  Mistresses  ;  by  teachers  of  music  and  teachers  of  lan- 
guages. They  had  learned  to  dance  from  Coulon  ;  to  sing  from 
Liverati ;  they  spoke  French  like  the  hahltuees  of  the  Faux- 
bourg  St.  Germain  ;  Italian  like  Romans.  Maria,  the  eldest  of 
the  two  remaining  girls,  being  plain,  was  more  especially  exhort- 
ed by  her  mother  to  study  "the  accomplishments."  And  Maria  had 
sense  enough  to  follow  the  advice.  She  did  study  "  the  accom- 
plishments" most  assiduously,  and  successfully.  But  though 
she  spoke  all  manner  of  tongues,  and  played  all  sorts  of  instru- 
ments;  though  she  dressed  like  a  French-woman;  and  flirted — 
like  any  woman, — some  way  or  other,  all  these  perfections  had 
hitherto  been  exerted  in  vain  ;  Maria  was  still  unmarried.  The 
men  agreed  that  she  sang  and  played  like  an  angel  ;  but  that 
she  looked  like — what  it  would  not  be  very  civil  to  repeat ;  but, 
which,  however,  some  very  particular  friend  of  Maria's  did  re- 
peat;  whereupon  Lady  Anne  marked  the  delinquent  in  her 
black  book,  and  vowed  that  she  would  make  him  repent  before 
he  died — that  is  to  say,  marry.  Lady  Anne,  indeed,  was  the 
more  indignant  at  the  observation,  because  she  felt  there  was 
some  truth  in  it.  Having,  through  her  own  family,  an  excel- 
lent introduction  for  her  daughters,  into  the  best  English  set, 
she  had  once  hoped  that  Maria,  although  plain,  might,  perhaps, 
have  been  fashionable  ;  but  there,  again,  she  was  baffled.  Ma- 
ria, though  she  had  the  two  essential  requisites  for  fashion, 
that  is  to  say,  intrepidity  and  hardiness,  was  considered  by  her 
exclusive  acquaintance,  as  much  too  vivacious,  ever  to  become 
perfectly  high  bred.  Unfortunately  for  her,  she  possessed 
much  of  the  humour  of  her  country  ;  and  had,  more  than  once, 
not  only  actually  laughed  herself,  but  had  caused  others  to  per- 


CANVASSING.  9 

petrate  a  similar  enormity.  She  was,  in  consequence,  set 
down  as  "  sadly  Irish,"  in  other  words,  extreme  mauvais  ton  ,- 
if  not  positively  vulgar,  something  closely  approximating-  to  it. 
Maria,  it  appears,  was  not  aware  that  although  an  Englishman 
of  a  certain  caste,  may  perchance  be  induced  to  enjoy  a  jest, 
he  never  fails  to  pretend  to  undervalue  the  jester,  whether  the 
said  jester  be  an  amateur,  or  a  buffoon  by  profession  ;  that, 
conscious  how  much  trouble  a  witty  saying  would  cost  himself, 
he  imagines  the  gaiety  of  his  lively  neighbours  to  be  as  great 
an  effort  to  them  as  to  him  ;  and  that,  therefore,  when  they 
laugh,  or  are  brilliant,  in  his  presence,  all  that  is  done  by  self- 
admitted  inferiors,  to  please  a  superior.  So  poor  Maria  was 
accused  of  being  very  Irish. 

"  Next  to  saying  I  picked  a  bone,"  said  she  to  her  mother, 
as  they  chatted  over  a  criticism  reported  to  have  been  made 
upon  her,  the  evening  before,  "  or  that  I  eat  with  my  knife,  they 
could  not,  according  to  their  code  of  manners,  say  a  worse  thing 
of  me  ;  stupid,  prosing  set !  I  will  let  them  see,  if  we  come  to 
the  push,  that  they  will  have  the  worst  of  it.  They  don't  yet 
know  a  tithe  of  what  is  in  me  ;  they  imagine,  because  I  do  not 
talk  as  if  I  were  half  asleep,  that  it  is  because  I  cannot  talk. 
To-morrow  evening,  at  my  uncle's,  I  will  look,  and  move,  and 
speak,  so  like  the  Lady  Vapids,  that  no  one  in  the  room  but 
will  confess  I  could  be  as  '  nice  a  person,'  and  as  tiresome,  as 
the  best  among  them." 

The  powers  of  mimicry  which  Maria  had  hitherto  restrained, 
she  fully  displayed  at  her  uncle's,  on  the  night  of  which  she 
had  spoken — allowing  her  fastidious  censors  to  see  what  was 
in  store  for  them,  if  they  did  not  leave  her  and  her  Irishism  un- 
molested. 

"So,  you  imagine,"  said  she  to  one  of  her  critics,  "that  we 
laugh  to  divert  you ;  and  that,  therefore,  you  must  be  gods  to 
us.  You  are  mistaken,  my  good  lord,  we  do  not  laugh  to  amuse 
you,  but  to  amuse  ourselves;  we  laugh  because  we  like  it;  be- 
cause we  can't  help  it,  in  fact.  What  would  the  philosopher 
of  old,  who  defined  man  to  be  a  laughing  animal,  say  to  you 
English] — you  high  English,  1  mean"?  Why  he  would  say 
you  were'sa(//y  English.'  I  have  philosophy,  you  see,  as 
well  as  nature,  on  my  side  ;  so  pray  rfo  let  me  laugh,  and  allow 
yourselves  to  laugh  along  with  me." 

Maria,  thanks  to  her  courage,  kept  her  ground,  among  her 
fashionable  associates;  and  she  became,  at  last,  not  so  much 
vulgar  as  odd  ;  but  Maria  knew  that  men  of  fashion  have  as 
great  an  objection  to  odd  girls,  as  to  vulgar  ones.     "  I  see, 


10  CANVASSING. 

plainly,"  said  she,  "  that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  marry  among: 
them:  but  some  fool  or  other,  with  money,  who  is  out  of  the 
set,  will  think  it  a  fine  thing  to  take  me,  because  I  am  in  it ; 
that  is  all  I  can  expect,  after  all  my  battling  for  a  place  among 
them.  Isabel,  you  have  a  better  chance  than  I  have,  you  are 
so  much  more  quiet." 

Maria  was  right.  Her  sister  Isabel  possessed  a  natural  ti- 
midity which  made  her  more  fitted  for  the  impress  for  English 
mannerism.  Though  not  called  beautiful,  few  could  see  her 
without  feeling  her  to  be  so.  Her  acquirements  did  not  bear 
quite  so  professional  a  stamp  as  those  of  her  sister,  but  there 
was  more  taste  evinced  in  the  manifestation  of  them.  Her  con- 
versation was  quiet,  but  interesting — animated,  without  being 
positively  gay ;  graceful,  and  slightly  dashed  with  romance. 
Indeed,  she  was  altogether  better  suited  than  her  sister  to  have 
succeeded  among  the  "  high  English."  But  then,  Isabel  Wil- 
mot  had  no  money;  and  beauty,  and  elegance,  and  accomplish- 
ments are  such  drugs  in  London !  Besides,  she  had  some 
strange  and  peculiar  ways  of  thinking,  which  checked  her  suc- 
cess in  life.  She  never  could  be  induced  to  imitate  her  sister's 
"Bold  strokes  for  a  Husband;"  and  would  even  venture  to  re- 
monstrate with  her  on  such  open  love-making  to  the  men. 

"  My  dear,  do  not  talk  nonsense,"  her  mother  would  say  ; 
*'  your  sister  must  do  as  others  do — as  all  your  acquaintances 
either  have  done,  are  doing,  or  will  do.  Men  will  not  make 
love,  now-a-days;  they  must,  therefore,  be  made  love  to; — 
one  of  your  curls  is  out  of  place,  my  love." 

And  here  Maria  would  chime  in — "  You  are  so  ridiculous, 
Isabel — wanting  to  play  the  violet,  forsooth  ;  modest  and  retired, 
waiting  to  be  sought  for ;  prettily  indifferent  whether  a  hand 
come  to  cull  you  or  not;  but  this  might  have  been  very  right 
a  century  ago,  my  good  child  ; — when  the  men  would  woo,  it 
was  perhaps  right  that  women  should  wait  to  be  wooed;  but 
"  autres  temps,  autresmsews,  ma  belle,'''' — you  violet  young  ladies 
may  now  remain  till  you  wither,  before  any  one  comes  to  pluck 
you  ; — the  men  of  the  present  day  expect  us  to  court  them.'''' 

'•Truly!  a  fitting  expectation,"  Isabel  would  rejoin:  'so 
while  they  repose  in  their  dignity,  like  the  Eastern  gentleman 
on  his  couch,  we  are  to  play  the  part  of  Bayaderes,  and  after  we 
have  danced  and  sung  like  Terpsichores  and  Syrens ;  after  we 
have  exhausted  all  our  little  wiles  and  graces,  to  charm  their 
apathy,  we  are  to  think  ourselves  repaid,  if  we  win  a  smile  in 
return,  from  their  high  mightinesses.  That  I  will  never  do- 
never" —  she  would  add,  earnestly. 


CANVASSING.  1 1 

«'  Don't  be  so  emphatic  about  nothing  at  all,  my  dear,  'tis 
extreme  ^  mauvais  ton,^  ^^  her  mother  would  answer.  "You 
need  not  marry  at  all,  you  know,  if  you  don't  choose  it;  but 
all  I  wish  to  observe  is,  that  if  you  do  intend  marrying,  and 
marrying  in  a  certain  rank,  you  must  not  expect  the  men  to 
look  after  you." 

Now,  Lady  Anne  had  brought  up  her  daughters  to  consider 
a  single  life  as  any  thing  rather  than  a  life  of  "blessedness;" 
but  though  Isabel  shivered  at  the  thought  of  being  an  old  maid, 
she  also  shrunk  at  the  idea  of  running  after  the  men,  though 
daily  exhorted  to  it  by  her  dear  mama's  precepts,  and  her  sis- 
ter's example.  She  was  too  worldly-minded  to  be  perfectly 
high-minded  ;  and  too  high-minded  to  be  perfectly  worldly  ;  so 
she  halted  between  two  sets  of  feelings  and  opinions; — a  mar- 
rying girl — and  yet  a  dignified  one.  She  had  both  a  head  and 
a  heart,  and  yet  she  aimed  to  establish  herself  among  "  the  cer- 
tain set,"  who,  as  it  is  proverbially  said,  do  not  care  or  pretend 
to  either.  She  felt  chilled  by  their  coldness,  taught  by  their 
hollowness,  wearied  by  their  apathy  ;  but  then,  rank,  fashion, 
fortune,  floated  as  a  bright  vision  before  her  eyes ;  and,  like 
many  other  girls,  she  thought  it  possible,  some  day  or  other, 
to  reconcile  her  ambition  with  her  affections.  In  fact,  she  was 
incapable  of  sacrificing  her  feelings  to  her  interests;  but  she 
determined  never  to  indulge  the  one  at  the  expense  of  the  other. 
While  in  this  state  of  vacillation,  her  father  was  obliged,  in 
consequence  of  having  been  robbed  by  his  local  agents,  to  re- 
turn with  his  family  from  London  to  Ireland,  where  they  had 
been  remaining  now  nearly  two  years  in  a  solitude  (comparatively 
speaking),  very  little  to  the  taste  of  either  of  the  sisters.  Isa- 
bel would  not  listen  to  the  soft  speeches  of  any  of  her  country 
neighbours,  or  haply  she  might  have  heard  "  something  to  her 
advantage."  Amongst  others,  a  certain  Mr.  McAlpine  was 
deeply  smitten  with  her; — of  him  more  anon.  But  though  the 
gentlemen  thought  her  very  handsome,  they  also  thought  she 
gave  herself  rather  too  many  airs;  as  for  the  ladies,  they  of 
course  abominated  her;  for  it  is  allowed  to  a  woman,  by  wo- 
men, to  be  either  pretty  or  clever;  but,  to  be  both  together  is 
unpardonable  ;  and  they,  therefore,  liked  Maria  better  than 
Isabel,  because  the  men  did  not. 

Still,  "  though  devilish  ugly,"  according  to  the  phraseology 
of  her  Irish  male  friends,  Maria  Wilmot  was  a  "  devilish"  plea- 
sant, off-hand  girl ;  no  London  airs,  like  the  beauty  ;  no  stuff 
and  nonsense  about  her,  but  the  truth  of  a  good-humoured,  rat- 
tling girl,  "  who  said  everything  that  came  uppermost." 


13  CANVASSING. 

Dear  g-entlemen  !  you  were  never  more  mistaken  in  your 
lives.  Maria  Wilmot,  vilh  all  her  apparent  abandon^  never 
said  anything  for  which  she  had  not  a  motive.  You  imagined 
that  one  who  incessantly  talked  and  laughed  could  "have  had 
no  harm  in  her" — that  is  to  say,  no  design  upon  you  ;  and  all 
the  ill-natured  things  she  said  of  herTellow-women,  and  all  the 
forward  ones  she  said  to  yourselves,  were,  therefore,  set  down 
y  you  to  mere  spirits  and  giddiness. 

Maria,  in  truth,  scarce  ever  lost  presence  of  mind.  She  was 
cased  in  armour  of  brass,  nothing  touched  or  disconcerted  her; 
and  surely,  if  possession  be  eleven  points  in  the  law  of  the  land, 
impudence  is  eleven  points  in  the  game  of  life  ;  indeed,  it  is  a 
gift  as  valuable  as  talent  in  man,  or  as  beauty  in  woman,  for  it 
makes  its  possessor  independent  of  either.  We  have  enlarged 
somewhat  on  this  point  of  Maria's  indiosyncracy,  inasmuch  as 
without  the  perfect  knowledge  of  her  distinguishing  characte- 
ristic, the  reader  might  be  unable  fully  to  comprehend  her  future 
proceedings. 


CHAPTER  III. 

On,  or  about  the  day  that  Lord  Warringdon  left  London  on 
his  way  to  Wilmot  castle.  Lady  Anne  and  her  daughters  were 
sitting  in  the  breakfast-room  of  the  afore-named  edifice,  reading, 
and  occasionally  amusing  themselves  by  watching  the  rain, 
which  poured  in  torrents  outside  the  windows  and  even  pene- 
trated a  little  on  their  inside.  Wilmot  castle,  originally  a 
shooting-lodge,  had  only  recently  become  (for  certain  cogent 
reasons  which  we  do  not  choose  to  mention,  but  which  the  she- 
riff of  its  county  town  could  guess  at,)  the  family  residence. 
Towers  of  various  heights  and  forms,  and  of  different  orders  of 
architecture,  classic,  gothic,  and  oriental,  according  to  the  sug- 
gestion of  each  successive  adviser  of  the  family,  were' heaped 
together  with  the  coolest  disregard  of  the  suitable,  the  conve- 
nient, or  even  of  the  comfortable. 

*'  What  a  day  !"  exclaimed  Maria,  yawning — "  I  wonder  will 
my  papa  bring  in  any  people  from  the  assizes  1" 

"I'm  sure,"  observed  Isabel,  "it  is  as  well  to  be  without 
any,  as  to  have  such  creatures  as  he  is  likely  to  bring." 

"  My  dear,  I  make  it  a  rule,"  returned  Maria,  "to  be  satis- 
fied, wherever  I  am,  with  the  best  the  country  produces,  whe- 


CANVASSING.  13 

ther  as  regards  eatables,  wearables,  or  fiirtables.  You  can't 
gather  '  grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles  :'  and  because  I  can't 
get  pine-apples,  I  will  not  sit  down  and  starve,  if  there  are  plenty 
even  of  good  potatoes  within  my  reach." 

"That's  what  I  call  sound  philoso[)hy,  Maria." 
"Excellent!  for  it's  sound  sense,"  agrfed  Lady  Anne,  look- 
ing off  her  book  for  a  moment,  to  commend  her  elder  daughter's 
rationality. 

"I  assure  you,  Isabel,"  continued  Maria,  "if  it  were  only  to 
keep  your  hand  m,  you  would  do  well  to  flirt  a  little  now  and 
then,  with  whatever  God  sends  :  'why  don't  you  take  pattern 
by  Miss  Maria?'  as  old  nurse  says,  'you  see  what  elegant 
divarsion  she  makes  for  herself,  not  all  as  one,  as  Miss 
Isabel.'" 

"  That's  all  very  well  for  nurse  to  say,  but — " 
"  But,"  interrupted  Maria,  laughing,  "not  very  well  for  me 
to  do;  is  that  it,  sentimental  Isabel?  For  my  part,  I  think 
flirting  not  only  an  agreeable,  but  a  very  salutary,  pastime.  A 
good  flirting  bout  adds  at  least,  ten  years  to  i7iy  life.  I  re- 
member when  you  were  a  pretty  good  hand  at  it,  yourself, 
Isabel." 

"  So  do  I,  too,"  replied  Isabel  smiling,  "  but  not  with  such 
men  as  you  are  talking  about — I  could  not  flirt  with  a  man  I  did 
not  like." 

"I  could,  then  ;  aye,  and  not  only  flirt  with  him,  but — marry 
him." 

"  Well !"  replied  Isabel,  "lean  much  better  understand  a 
woman's  marrying  a  man  she  dislikes,  than  flirting  with  one 
she  dislikes." 

"Upon  what  principle?"  asked  Maria. 

"Upon  the  principle  that  a  man  might  with  great  calmness 
suffer  a  rope  to  be  placed  round  his  neck,  although  he  will 
hardly  laugh,  and  jest,  and  bandy  witty  sayings  with  the  hang- 
man." 

"Bravo,  bravo!"  exclaimed  Maria,  laughing,  "a  husband 
compared  to  a  hangman  !  c^est  unique  ma  there — but  there's 
Paudeen,  I  vow !  and  I  dare  say  he  brings  a  letter  from  mv 
father." 

And  she  started  off  to  the  hall-door  to  watch  Paudeen,  puf- 
fing and  blowing,  as  he  ascended  the  hill  leading  to  the  Castle. 
Little  Paudeen  was  one  of  the  corps  de  reserve  composed  of  er- 
rand boys,  and  idling  boys,  who  seemed  just  born  into  the 
world  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  supply,  by  their  little  bare 

2 


14 


CANVASSING. 


legs,  the  occasional  lapses  of  memory  of  the  Castle  Wilmot 
household. 

"  Murdher  !  we  forgot  to  send  for  the  salt !  The  beef  will 
be  spoilt  intirely,  for  want  of  the  salt !  Where  in  the  world  is 
Paudeen  ?  Till  I'd  make  him  step  across  the  mountain  for  the 
salt." 

But  Paudeen  would  have  been  despatched  the  night  before 
"  for  the  tay,  that  was  forgot  to  be  sint  for,  the  same  time  as 
the  sugar."  And  one  of  Paudeen's  compeers  would  be  packed 
off  for  the  salt.  And  so,  Paudeen  was  now  returning,  after 
performing  some  confidental  mission  of  this  nature,  from  the 
assize  town. 

"  How  are  you,  Paudeen?"  said  Maria,  finely. 

"  I  thank  your  honour,  Miss  :"  replied  Paudeen,  pulling  out 
a  lock  of  his  hair,  in  his  eagerness  to  make  his  best  bow.  He 
would  have  pulled  off  his  hat  if  he  had  one. 

"  Well,  Paudeen,  did  you  see  the  master!" — 

"I  did,  plaze  your  honour:"  replied  the  hatless,  shoeless 
page  of  Castle  Wilmot. 

"  And  when  is  he  coming?"  continued  Maria. 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  he  will  be  here,  Miss  :"  rejoined 
Paudeen. 

"  And  do  you  know  what  prevented  his  coming  yesterday  V 

"  W^aiting  for  the  gintleman,  I  b'lieve,  Miss," 

"  What  gentleman?"  asked  Maria,  briskly. 

"The  gintleman  from  England,  Miss." 

"  What  has  a  gentleman  from  England  to  do  with  the  master's 
coming  home,  Paudeen  ?" 

"  Sure  it  has  everything  to  do  with  it,  wherin  the  gintleman 
is  coming  along  with  himself — came  all  the  ways  from  Eng- 
land, a  purpose  to  ax  the  masther's  lave  to  be  made  a  mimber 
of,  Miss." 

"  Can  it  be  Lord  Warringdon,  I  wonder  ?"  said  Maria,  think- 
ing aloud. 

"That's  the  name.  Miss — you  have  it,  and  you  got  the  Mas- 
ther's letter,  didn't  you.  Miss,  where  he  tould  you  all  about  it?" 

"  No,"  answered  Maria,  "  we  got  no  letter." 

"Faith,  and  he  sent  it.  Miss,  for  all  that,  by  a  brother  of  Pat 
Murphy's  ;  but  'lis  my  opinion.  Miss,  he  got  drunk  and  lost  the 
letter ;  'case  you  know.  Miss,  he  loves  a  dhrop.  So,  Miss,  you 
didn't  get  the  bad  places  on  the  road  mended,  nor  anything 
ready,  Miss?  To  be  sure  what  a  villian  he  is!  the  masther 
will  be  mad,  and  no  blame  to  him  !" 

Maria  returned  hastily  to  the  apartment  where  she  had  left 


CANVASSING.  15 

her  mother  and  sister.  "  Good  people,"  said  she,  "  I  am  the 
bearer  of  important  tidings — our  solitude  is  about  to  be  broken 
in  upon  by  no  less  a  personage  than  Viscount  Warringdon." 

"Nonsense,  Maria!"  exclaimed  her  sister. 

"Truth,  Isabel." 

"  Who  says  so  V  demanded  Lady  Anne. 

"I  have  it  on  indisputable  authority — that  of  Paudeen,  who 
has  just  returned  from  the  scene  of  action — where  he  left  my 
father  awaiting  the  noble  Viscount's  arrival." 

"Very  extraordinary  that  your  father  should  not  have  men- 
tioned this  sooner!"  replied  Lady  Anne. 

"  It  appears  thai  he  has,  in  a  letter,  but  that  the  letter  has 
been  lost." 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  not  a  single  thing  in  the  house  fit  for 
the  reception  of  such  a  person  as  Lord  Warrino-don — do  rino- 
the  bell,  I  must  only  do  the  best  I  can."  °  ° 

Pat  Murphy  answered  the  summons,  and  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards his  voice  was  heard  in  the  servants'  hall,  calling  out  in 
a  hasty  manner,  "send  up  Jim  Flanagan  to  my  lady." 

"What  for?"  asked  Mrs.  McDonogh. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  was  the  surly°rejoinder. 

"  Never  you  mind,  to  me  !  you  baste!  How  dare  you  say 
never  mind,  to  me?" 

"I  say  it  agin,  then,"  rejoined  Pat,  "and  Pd  say  it  to  the 
King  of  England,  or  the  Pope,  if  he  was  in  it,  or  the  masther 
himself,  when  such  conthrary  things  happen." 

"  Oh,  then,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  my  man;  and  mind  what 
I  say — don't  be  showing  your  ilUraanners  to  your  masther's 
nurse,  whomsoever  you  may  be  impident  too,  for  that  would  be 
a  worse  day  for  you  than  ever  your  worst  inemy  wished  to  you." 

Pat  seemed  to  suspect  as  much,  for  he  made  no  answer  to 
this  denunciation,  but  turned  round  on  the  crowd  who  stood 
gaping  and  listening  to  the  dialogue. 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  ye  send^'up  Jim  when  I  bid  you?" 

"And  how  the  devil  could  we,  when  he  isn't  in  iti" 

"Tunder  and  ages  !  then,  where  is  he  ?"— 

"  Gone  home,  to  be  sure— where  else  would  he  be  V 

"The  curse  o'  Cromwell  on  him!"  piously  exclaimed  Pat. 
"I  never  knew  him  betther  than  to  be  always  in  the  way,  or 
always  out  of  it— Meehelleen,  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Here  !"  exclaimed  a  little  sharp  voice. 

"  Meehelleen,  Ma  vourneen,  you  must  o-q  by  the  first  liaht  in 
the  morning  for  Jim,  and  bid  him  come  here,  if  he's  alive,  by 
eight  0  clock  afore  breakfast ;  or,  wait !  may  be  'tis  as  well  at 


16 


CANVASSING. 


once  to  tell  him  what  he  is  wanting  for;  'twill  save  time;  so 
bid  him  take  a  couple  o'  score  of  min  to  the  road,  to  mend  the 
bad  places — do  you  mind  ]" 

"I  do:"  replied  Meehelleen,  half  asleep. 
"Bad  luck  to  them  scoundrels  on  the  grand  jur}',  that's  al- 
ways traversing  the  masiher's  presintments,"  charitably  ob- 
served one  of  the  attaches  of  the  kitchen. 

"  You  are  a  fool  for  thai,  wish,"  responded  Pat — "maybe  if 
the  roads  were  bettherwe'd  have  some  company  thravelling  on 
them  that  mightn't  be  so  convanient." 

"A  then,  Pat,"  said  a  rosy-faced  laundry-maid,  suspected  of 
possessing  more  influence  over  Pat's  surly  humour  than  he  cared 
to  acknowledge — "A  then,  tell  us,  an'  God  bless  you,  who's 
expicted  ]" 

"  The  devil  and  his  mother!"  was  the  lover-like  answer. 
"  The  Lord  save  us  !  don't  bite  our  heads  off,  any  how.  The 
cat  may  look  at  the  king — any  one  may  ax  a  question,  I  hope." 
"  Well  then,  indeed,  Peggy,"  remarked  ]\Irs.  McDonogh — 
"I  think  you  might  as  well  wait  till  your  betthers  were  sarved, 
before  you  put  your  spoon  in  the  dish;  more  especially  when 
the  discoorse  is  of  family  concarns  ;  and  when  /  caii't  get  an 
answer,  'tis  not  the  likes  of  you  that  will ;  but,  indeed,  I  desarve 
no  betther,  when  I  demane  myself  to  join  such  company." 

In  hopes,  however,  that  Pat  would,  sooner  or  later,  make  the 
amende  lionoruhle^  and  communicate  the  desired  information, 
I\Irs.  McDonogh  retained  her  seat,  and  suspended  her  dignity 
for  a  season. 

Indeed,  like  many  other  people  of  importance,  she  found 
grandeur  a  troublesome  every-day  appendage,  and  was  not  sorry 
to  exchange,  sometimes,  the  stiffness  of  housekeeper-room  eti- 
quette for  the  more  sociable  conversation  of  the  servants'  hall. 

A  few  moment's  reflection  had  convinced  Pat  of  the  impro- 
priety o^  answering  so  important  a  personage  as  Mrs.  McDo- 
nogh with  the  disrespect  of  which  he  had  been  guilty  ;  and, 
after  two  or  three  muttered  curses  on  the  absent  Jim  Flanagan, 
he  re-addressed  the  good  lady  thus; 

"  Well,  ma'am  ;  if  I  said  anything  out  of  the  way,  I  ax  your 
pardon  :  you  knov/,  yourself,  I  wouldn't  be  the  one  to  displase 
the  masther's  dog,  let  alone  his  nurse.  Sure,  if  I  didn't  love 
him,  and  all  belonging  to  him,  as  I  do,  and  if  I  wouldn't  go  to 
the  hottest  place  in  the  other  world  for  them,  I  needn't  mind 
who  comes  or  laves  the  house.  There's  Tom  Sassenach,  for 
you,  who's  always  as  mild  as  a  girl  the  day  of  her  wedding. 
He  takes  the  world  asy.     The  masther  saved  him  from  being 


CANVASSING,  17 

thranspoTted,  in  London,  and,  for  all  that,  he  wouldn't  help  us 
tx)  bate  the  process-server,  because,  indeed,  he  might  take  the 
law  of  him,  for  an  assault  upon  the  king's  highway.  God  help 
his  poor  bothered  English  head,  'tisn't  on  the  king's  highway, 
at  all,  man,  says  I,  for 'twas  up  a'  Doreen  we  caught  the  fellow, 
Mrs.  McDonogh,  Ijut  a  devil  a  one  of  Tom  would  lift  a  stick; 
and  I'm  not  all's  one  as  that  mane-spirited  cratur.  I'd  lose  the 
last  dhrop  of  my  blood  for  the  masther ;  and,  you  know,  ma'am, 
that  many's  the  time  I  have  done  what  one  sthroke  more  would 
have  made  murder  of,  to  keep  oflf  them  blood-thirsty-Orange- 
men of  process-servers." 

Pat's  audience,  much  as  they  desired  this  exordium  shortened, 
did  not  venture  on  imitating  the  means  resorted  to  by  impatient 
members  of  the  Lower  House,  when  they  wish  to  curtail  long- 
winded  exposes.  Pat  was  neither  questioned  nor  coughed  down, 
but  suffered  to  say  his  say. — The  Irish  are  naturally  a  courteous 
people.  When  it  was  evident  he  had  finished,  and  not  till  then, 
a  buzz  of  approbation,  and  of  approbation  only,  met  his  ear, 
"  True,  for  you,  Pat,  there  never  lived  a  better  sarvant  to  a 
good  masther,  than  yourself, — divil  abetter." 

Now,  in  the  Irish  vocabulary,  a  good  servant  does  not  always 
mean  the  same  as  in  the  English  one.  In  fact,  a  good  servant, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  sometimes  signifies  an  individual 
who  may  be  troublesome,  drunken,  and  negligent,  even  disre- 
spectful, but  who  would  stand  up  for  his  master's  dignity,  and 
defend  his  person  at  the  peril  of  his  own  neck  ;  very  useful 
qualifications,  it  may  be  added,  in  a  country,  where,  now  and 
tben,  its  gentry  owe  their  personal  liberty  to  their  inaccessible 
roads  and  a  devoted  tenantry. 

"  At  the  same  time,"  continued  Pat,  "  that  I  would  lay  down 
my  life  for  the  masther,  and  why  wouldn't  I  ?  He  saved  my 
father,  in  the  rebellion,  from  dying,  as  none  of  his  name  ever 
did  before  him,  or  will  afiherhira,  if  it  wouldn't  be  myself,  that 
might  give  one  of  the  lads,  with  papers,  a  taste  more  of  the 
stick  than  he  could  convaniently  carry.  But  for  all  that,  and 
well  as  I  love  him,  by  the  powers !  he  sometimes  makes  me 
mad  with  him.  Nothing  must  do  him,  but  to  write  to  ax  that 
lord  from  England,  that's  coming  to  canvass  the  county." 

Many  and  various  were  the  exclamations  that  now  arose  in 
every  variety  of  Irish  intonation,  from  servant's  hall  and 
kitchen. 

"  Blessed  Virgin,  purtectus!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mc  Donough, 
"sure  it's  joking  you  are,  Pat  I  a  gintleman  from  England  !" 

"  Bad  cess  to  them  villains  of  turkeys,"  cried  the  cook ; 
2* 


18 


CANVASSING. 


"  there  isn't  one  of  them  fit  to  kill !  I  have  been  breaking  my 
heart,  this  fortnight  past,  sthrivingto  fatten  'em,  and  can't,  God 
help  me  !" 

*'  Devil  a  thing  to  ate  or  dhrink  in  the  house,  this  blessed 
night !"  groaned  the  groom.  I  never  knew  the  aqual  of  the  mas- 
ther,  for  doin'  things  hand  over  head,  without  so  much  as  tell- 
ing one  before  he  does  'em." 

"That  he  may  brake  his  neck,  I  pray  God,  for  all  thethrouble 
he  is  giving  us,"  piously  aspirated  the  housemaid,  meaning  the 
expected  stranger,  however  not  her  master. 

"What  matter,  whether  he  does  or  not"?"  interrupted  the 
coachman;  "one  would  think,  to  hear  ye  all  going  on,  there 
never  was  seen  a  jintleman  in  the  house  afore ;  what's  good 
enough  for  the  quality  of  the  counthry  is  good  enough  for  him 
I  suppose." 

"Don't  bother  us,"  said  Pat;  "  We  know  that  as  well  as 
you  can  tell  us.     'Tisn't  that  he's  better  than  other  quality,  but 

that  he's  more  impudent.  Them  English  is  so  d d  concated, 

passing  their  remarks  on  Ireland,  and  making  their  skit  of  all 
they  seen,  when  they  go  back  again." 

"Is  he  \'oung  or  ould,  Pat,"  inquired  the  laundry-maid,  mak- 
ing a  second  attempt  to  extract  information  from  her  uncommu- 
nicative admirer. 

"  What  the  devil  does  it  signify,  whether  he  is,  or  no  1" 

"  'Tis  you  that's  in  the  sweet  timper  to-night,  sure  enough," 
retorted  his  mistress.  "  It  does,  then,  signify  everything  whe- 
ther a  gintleman  coming  to  the  house  is  young  or  ould ;  if  he's 
a  young,  rich  gintleman,  who  knows  what  good  may  be  insthore 
for  one  of  the  young  ladies'?" 

"  Oh,  then,  if  he's  any  good  at  all,  down  on  my  binded  knees 
this  night,  I  pray  the  saints  in  heaven,  one  of  the  young  ladies 
may  get  him.  How  proud  I'd  be,  if  he  was  to  purpose  for  Miss 
Maria !  she's  such  a  darling,  hearty,  pleasant  cratur.  I  wonder 
which  of  'em  it  will  bel" 

"  You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  wondhering  about 
it,  for  he'll  take  neither  of  'em,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Pat. 
"That's  the  way  with  them  English  always;  they'll  ate  you 
out  of  house  and  home,  and  then  walk  off  with  thimselves,  fair 
andasy.  But  it's  Miss  Isabel  he'd  take,  if  he  took  either;  she's 
such  a  darling,  purty  young  lady." 

Here  a  violent  ringing  of  the  parlour  bell  interrupted  the  col- 
loquy. 

«  Hubbaboo  I"  exclaimed  Pat ;  "  I  forgot,  intirely,  to  tell  ye. 


CANVASSING.  19 

my  lady  wants  Winny  directly  ; — skelp  off  this  minute,  like  a 
lamp-lighter." 

Winny  was  not  very  slow  in  obeying  the  summons,  in  hopes 
of  learning  all  the  particulars  concerning  the  alarming  visit. 

"  Winny,  my  good  girl,"  said  Lady  Anne,  "  you  must  get 
the  best  room  ready  against  the  day  after  to-morrow,  for  a  gen- 
tlemen the  master  has  asked  here." 

"  Ah,  then,  mee  Lady,  sure  it  isn't  here  he'll  sleep." 

"Why,  Winny,  where  can  he  sleep  but  here  ]" 

"  Faicks,  mee  Lady,  there's  no  sheets  to  put  on  the  bed." 

"  No  sheets  I  how  do  you  mean  V 

"  The  masther,  inee  Lady,  that  ordered  widow  Fahy's  cow 
into  the  shrubbery,  beyant,  and  myself  didn't  know  the  conthra- 
riness  of  her,  becase,  mee  lady,  she's  only  a  short  time  in  the 
place, — widow  Fahy  bought  her  of  a  man  in  the  lower  parish, 
so  I  left  themselves  and  herself  together,  mee  lady." 

*'You  left  what  together?"  said  Lady  Anne.  "I  don't  un- 
derstand what  you're  talking  about." 

"The  sheets  and  tlie  cow,  mee  Lady." 

"Oh,  very  well,  go  on,"  said  Lady  Anne. 

"  Well,  mee  lady,  I  wint  into  ray  dinner  not  thinking  any 
hairm  would  happen  my  sheets,  or  I  would  have  made  my  lit- 
tle sister  stop  with  them  ;  and  when  I  come  back,  to  look  to 
see  were  they  dhry,  sorrow  of  a  tatther  of  a  sheet  did  I  see, 
but  a  rag  sticking  out  of  her  mouth." 

"  Out  of  your  sister's  mouth?"  asked  Lady  Anne,  who,  not 
having  been  Irish  bred  and  born,  was  seldom  able  to  follow  the 
entanglements  of  an  Irish  sentence. 

"i\ot  at  all,  mee  lady;  my  little  sisther  wasn't  in  it,  more 
is  the  pity.  No!  but  stickin  out  of  the  cow's  mouth  it  was; 
mee  lady,  the  sight  left  my  eyes  when  I  seen  it,  and  a  wakeness 
came  over  me  at  the  start  I  got." 

"  The  upshot  of  it  is,"  said  Maria,  "  the  cow  has  eaten  the 
sheets;  isn't  that  it,  Winney  ?" 

"It  is,  Miss:  but,  sure  it  isn't  the  sheets,  itself,  that's  the 
worst  of  it.  We  could  borrow  a  pair  of  sheets  from  Mrs.  Mo- 
lony,  who's  always  a  good  warrant  to  lend,  only  for  the  cur- 
tains being  spoiled,  too." 

"  What !  did  the  cow  eat  the  curtains,  too  ]" 

"  No,  mee  Lady,  but  Father  John's  brother!" 

"  Eat  them  .?"  exclaimed  Lady  Anne. 

"  No,  mee  lady,  tore  'em." 

"  How  could  he  tear  them  ?" 

"  Father  John's  Brother,  mee  lady,  that  was  at  a  wedding. 


20  CANVASSING. 

Saturday  was  a  week,  and  he  come  here  becase  'twas  late  for 
himself  and  his  baste  to  be  crossing  the  bogs. 

"  What  has  this  to  do  with  the  cartains°being  torn  1"  inter- 
rupted Lady  Anne. 

*'  Sure,  ray  lady,  it  has  everything  to  do  with  it,  seeing  he 
was  pleasant  at  the  same  time." 

"  What  does  she  mean  to  say  ■?"  asked  Lady  Anne,  turning 
to  Maria,  who  was  enjoying  the  dialogue  between  the  Irish  ser- 
vant and  English  Mistress,  and  thought  it  much  too  pretty  a 
one  to  be  inclined  to  spoil  it  by  a  little  explanation. 

"I  wish,  Maria,  you  would  not  stand  laughing  there,  but. 
help  me  to  understand  this  girl.      "What  on  earth  a  man's  be- 
ing pleasant  can  have  to  do  with  tearing  curtains,  1  can't  ima- 
gine." 

*'  But  sure,  I  mane  he  was  not  himself,  you  know." 

Lady  Anne  still  looked  puzzled. 

"  He  tuk  a  sup,  I  mane ;  you  understand,  don't  you.  Miss? 
continued  Wiuny,  curtsying  to  Maria. 

*'  To  be  sure  I  do,  Winny  ;  do  you  think  I  was  born  in  Ire- 
land for  nothing  1" 

Maria  was  particularly  anxious  to  stand  well  with  the  lower 
order,  and  have  their  good  word  ;  besides,  she  was,  indeed, 
constitutionally  good-humoured,  and  never  ill-natured,  except 
when  it  was  her  interest  to  be  so. 

"  Ah,"  thought  Winny,  "  Miss  Maria  has  more  sinse  in  her 
little  finger,  than  my  lady  in  her  whole  carcase.  Well,  Miss, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  right  or  wrong,  he  wanted  more 
liquor,  and  troth  we  were  afeard  to  give  it  to  him  any  more. 
He  axed  the  masther  then,  himself,  and  when  the  masther 
wouldn't  give  it  to  him  either,  he  went  mad  intirely.  Then  the 
masther  come  down  to  see  who  it  was  making  sich  a  noise  in 
the  house,  and  when  he  seen  who  it  was,  he  bid  Pat  Mur- 
phy and  Paudeen  carry  him  up  to  bed,  and  when  he  wasn't 
plazed  with  the  reception  he  got,  sure  he  tore  the  curtains  in 
ribbons,  and  broke  the  bed,  and  destroyed  the  room  intirely. 
Miss.  I  never  seen  him  so  pleasant,  as  he  was  that  same 
night." 

"  Yes,  but,  Winny,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  best 
room,  you  know  :"  observed  Maria. 

*'  Avoch,  Miss,  sure  its  of  the  best  room  I  am  talking.  Sure 
its  the  best  room  he  ruint  this  ways :  sorrow  may  care  what 
capers  he  cut  any  where  else  but  there,  sure  that  what's  kill- 
ing me,  Miss ;"  continued  Winny,  dolefully. 


CANVASSING.  21 

"  And  pray,"  interrupted  Lady  Anne,  in  displeasure,  *'  what 
possessed  you  to  put  a  drunken  man  into  the  best  room  ?" 

"  God  sees  and  knows,  it  wasn't  my  fault,  mee  lady,  but  the 
masther's,  that  tould  me  take  care,  for  my  life,  would  1  put 
him  where  your  honour's  ladyship  could  hear  him  bawling-,  and 
roaring-,  and  going  on,  for  fear  you  wouldn't  be  plazed  with  the 
noise  he  was  making,  mee  lady ;  and  I  had  no  place  to  put  him 
in  out  of  the  way,  but  the  best  room.  Myself,  and  Paudeen, 
and  Pat  Murphy,  and  all  the  other  girls  in  the  house,  mee  lady, 
were  striving  an  hour  and  more  by  the  clock,  to  get  him  up 
the  garret  stairs,  but  it  failed  us  ;  he  kept  kicking-,  and  pranc- 
ing, and  biting-  like  mad — sich  other  going  on,  I  never  seen, 
for  all  I'm  used  to  men  in  liquor.  So  I  went  to  tell  the  mas- 
ther  it  failed  us  to  get  him  up  the  garret-stair — an'  the  masther, 
he  bid  me  put  him  in  the  best  room.  '  Faith,  sir,'  says  I,  '  I'm 
afeard  my  lady  will  be  mad.'  '  No  she  won't,'  said  he,  « do  as 
I  bid  yoii.'  Troth,  my  lady,  I'd  be  very  sorry  to  do  it  at  any 
other  bidding  but  his  own." 

Just  at  this  moment  a  doleful  exclamation  from  the  group 
that  had  gathered  round  the  half-opened  door,  attracted  Maria's 
attention. 

"  Arab,  Pat  dear  !  How  will  this  be  at  all !  My  lady  will  go 
mad  intirely,  and  no  blame  to  her,  in  regard  of  the  spoons." 
"What  spoons'?"  asked  Maria. 

"  The  spoons  of  the  house,  Miss,  that  Barney  Sullivan  took 
the  loan  of,  without  lave." 

"  Stole,  I  suppose  you  mean,"  observed  Maria. 
"Troth,  and  I  b'live  that's  only  another  way  of  saying  the 
same  thing.  He  borry'd  them  as  though  for  his  sisther's  wed- 
ding— you  know  the  one  that  married  a  son  of  Mark  Flana- 
gan's, a  sort  of  a  half  gentleman,  that  must  be  made  much 
of,  so  the  masther  bid  me  give  'em  them,  and  when  I  tould  the 
masther  I  could  not  get  them  of  him  again,  if  I  didn't  bate  him, 
he  told  me  not,  and  that  he  would  see  about  him  himself;  but 
he  went  to  the  'sizes  sure,  and  he  forgot  'em." 

**  And  why  did  you  not  tell  me,  Pat,  that  the  things  in  your 
charge  were  missing?" — 

"A  sure,  my  lady,  didn't  the  masther  threaten  he'd  banish 
me  the  place,  if  I  let  on  to  your  ladyship  about  it?  Faith,  I'd 
be  verry  sorry  to  be  decavingyou  my  lady,  in  regard  of  a  black- 
guard of  his  kind.  Barney  Sullivan  is  no  such  great  frind  of 
mine,  as  that  I'd  be  telling  lies  to  screen  him  from  his  desar- 
vings." 

*'  Was   ever  anything  like  this  !"  exclaimed  Isabel,  for  the 


22 


CANVASSING, 


first  time  taking  a  part  in  the  conversation — she  had  hitherto 
sat  silent  and  provoked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maria,  "there  have  heen  fifty  things  just 
like  it — one  would  imagine  you  were  still  in  Grovesnor  Square, 
where  there  are  no  cows  to  eat  sheets,  nor  Barney  Sullivans  to 
steal  spoons." 

"We  shall  be  disgraced,  I  see  clearly,"  said  Lady  Anne,  in 
a  desponding  tone.  "  Even  with  the  best  appointed  establish- 
ment, we  should  hardly  escape  the  criticism  of  a  young  Eng- 
lish gentleman  of  fashion  :  but  such  a  castle  Rack-Rent  as  this, 
would  make  us  the  ridicule  of  any  one — and  he  is  to  be  here 
the  day  after  to-morrow!  I  really  do  not  know  which  way  to 
turn." 

"  We  had  better  give  out  we  have  got  the  typhus  fever  in  the 
house,  and  that  we  must  relinquish  the  pleasure  of  his  com- 
pany;"  said  Maria — "but  come,  mamma,  let  you  and  Isabel 
take  yourselves  off,  and  I  will  overlook  the  domestic  economy 
and  settle  it  all  capitally,  you  shall  see." 

After  the  door  had  closed  on  them,  Maria  began  a  review  of 
the  cellar.  "The  champagne  is  gone  long  ago,  I  know,  but 
there's  some  madeira,  and  — " 

"  Madeira !  Miss  Maria,  sorrow  a  dhrop  in  the  place  as  mush 
as  would  blind  yonr  eye:  the  last  dozen  was  drank  the  day 
before  the  masther  left  home  :"  replied  Pat. 

"  Bad  enough;"  remarked  Maria,  "still  we  have  the  Bur- 
gundy, you  know." 

"Ah,  then  where.  Miss?"  inquired  Pat. 

"In  the  cellar  I  suppose  :"  answered  Maria. 

"Faicks  and  you  have  not.  Miss,  Mr.  O'Higgerty  got  the 
last  of  it,  when  he  gave  the  grand  dinner  to  the  army,  last 
week." 

"  Hermitage,  Frontignac,  Hock,  Vin  de  Grave,  are  none  of 
them  forthcoming!" 

"No!" 

"  What  does  remain  then  !" 

"Faith,  Miss,  it  won't  take  long  to  say  that— only  a  dozen 
of  port,  and  half-a-dozen  of  sherry  !"  and  such  was  the  com- 
fortable announcement  of  the  state  of  the  cellar. 

"  And  what's  to  be  done  about  the  dinner.  Miss  !"  inquired 
the  terrified  cook.  "  Me,  that  has  neither  duck,  nor  chicken, 
nor  turkey  fit  to  kill.  I  never  seen  such  schamers  of  poulthry  ! 
the  world  wouldn't  fatten  'em — just  as  if  they  done  it  a  purpose, 
out  of  contrariness.  May  our  blessed  mother  look  down  upon 
me  this  night,  in  my  thruble !" 


i 


CANVASSING.  23 

Maria's  courage  began  to  ooze  out,  but,  however,  she  put  a 
good  face  on  the  matter,  and  after  a  little  consultation  and  recol- 
lection, the  affair  was  arranged  more  creditably  for  the  Wilmot 
pride  than  could  at  one  time  have  been  expected.  Borrowing 
parties  were  sent  out,  in  all  directions,  to  repair  the  various 
wants  and  losses  already  enumerated,  and,  by  the  eventful  day, 
Maria  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  everything  was  tole- 
rably right  and  proper.  Lady  Anne  resumed  her  bland  smiles, 
and  Isabel  began  to  breathe  freely  once  more  ;  and  in  this  pleas- 
ing state  of  mind  we  will  leave  them,  and  return  to  our  friend 

Lord  Warringdon,  who  has  just  arrived  at ,  and  early  in 

the  morning  is  preparing  to  start  for  Wilmot  Castle,  accompanied 
by  Mr.  Wilmot  himself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  road  to  Wilmot  Castle,  never  very  good,  was  now,  owingr 
to  the  late  rains,  nearly  impassable;  and  Mr.  Wilmot,  although 
he  had  issued  strict  orders  to  '*  little  Paudeen"  to  bid  Pat  Mur- 
phy to  tell  Jim  Flanagan  to  give  "  a  touch  of  mending"  to  the 
bad  places,  entertained  certain  misgivings  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  the  said  orders  would  be  executed  by  the  said  Jim  Fla- 
nagan ;  even  should  the  said  Paudeen  not  have  forgotten  to  tell 
the  said  Pat  Murphy  to  tell  the  said  Jim. 

"I  am  devilishly  afraid,  Kelly,"  he  said  to  his  rnan,  as  he 
was  stepping  into  bed,  the  evening  before  they  were  to  start; 
"  that  Lord  Warringdon's  nice,  London-built  carriage  will  break 
dow'n  on  the  road  to  Wilmot  Castle." 

"Faith,  sir,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  did." 

"  Had  I  not  better  tell  him  to  leave  it  here,  then  1  Costella 
will  take  care  of  it; — v/hat  do  you  think,  Kelly  ]" 

"Faith,  sir,  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  say  nothing 
about  it,  but  leave  it  all  to  God.  IMay  be,  it  won't  break  down 
at  all,  sir;  and  if  it  does,  we  must  only  pretend  to  be  greatly 
surprised  on  account  of  how  bad  the  road  is  grown  ;  or,  suppose 
we  lay  the  blame  on  the  dhriver ;  that  will  do  betther.  Jim  is 
to  dhrive  us  (he  is  a  tinant  of  your  own,  sir,  from  the  other  side 
o'  the  county)  ;  and  he  won't  mind,  a  ha'parth,  getting  the  blame 
instead  of  your  road,  sir  ;  and  we  can  make  it  up  to  him  some 
other  way,  sir;  it  would  sound  so  quare,  sir,  to  be  telling  a 


24  CANVASSING. 

sthranffe  gentleman,  just  come  to  the  coiinthry,  that  one  hasn't 
a  road  lit  for  him  to  thravel  on,  sir." 

"By  Jove,  Kelly,  I  believe  you  are  right,"  replied  the  mas- 
ter; "no  use  exposing  the  nakedness  of  the  land,  if  we  can 
help  it;  and,  as  you  say,  may  be,  we  shan't  break  down  ;  and, 
if  we  do,  you  can  give  Jim  half  a  guinea  to  take  the  blame  on 
himself,  poor  devil  !" 

So  Mr.  Wilmot  did  not  apprise  his  noble  guest  of  the  more 
than  probable  doom  of  his  highly-finished,  London-built  car- 
riage. 

"Where  is  the  post-boy]"  asked  Lord  Warringdon,  of  a  tat- 
terdemalion figure  near  him. 

"  Is  it  the  dhriver  you  are  axin'  about,  sir, — my  lord,  1 
mane"?"  also  asked,  instead  of  answering  (for  he  was  Irish)  the 
person  addressed  ;  and  he  respectfully  took  off  a  hat  that  had, 
we  suppose,  once  been  good  and  shaped  like  other  hats,  but 
that  now  bore  evidence  of  hard  service ; — "  an',  sure,  I  'm  the 
boy  you  want,  my  lord." 

His  lordship  showed  some  surprise  at  this  piece  of  informa- 
tion ;  but  Jim,  though  interpreting  the  surprise  to  be  created  by 
his  own  un-posl-boy  like  appearance,  afliected  to  take  it  quite 
the  other  way. 

"  Faith  !  it's  myseP,  and  nobody  else,  that's  to  be  your 
dhriver,  my  lord;  did  ye  think,  sir, — my  lord,  I  mane, — that 
my  master,  Misther  Costelloe,  would  put  you  off  wid  any  one 
but  mysel' ?  Faith,  my  lord,  he  would  be  very  sorry  to  do 
such  a  thing  as  that ;  'tis  me  that  always  dhrives  the  lords  and 
raimbers  of  parliament;  for  Misther  Costelloe  wouldn't  let  me 
dhrive  any  of  the  commonality,  at  all,  good  or  bad,  but  keeps 
me  for  the  grand  quality  intirely,  such  as  your  lordship's 
honour,  or  Mr.  Wilmot;  yes,  indeed,  I'm  his  grandhee  dhriver, 
my  lord."  And  Jim  closed  his  harangue  by  giving  a  chuck  to 
his  femoral  habiliments  and  a  knowing  look  at  Mike  Kelly. 

"  So,  then,"  said  Lord  Warringdon,  laughing,  aye,  English 
and  exclusive  as  he  was,  actually  laughing  at  the  singularly 
unaristocratic  appearance  of  the  'grandee  dhriver."  "So, 
then,  1  am  to  consider  it  quite  a  compliment  to  have  you  for  a 
coachman  ?" 

"Oh!  not  to  say  intirely  a  compliment,  my  lord,"  replied  ■ 
Jim,  twirling  between  finger  and  thumb  the  before-mentioned 
hat,  and  smiling  and  looking  modest. 

"Not  entirely?"  asked  Lord  Warringdon  i, "  only  almost, 
Jim,  is  that  if?" 

"  I  b'lieve  this  is  the  way  it  is  ; — a  grand  gintleman,  like 


CANVASSING.  25 

you,  my  lord,  would  not  like,  may  be,  to  be  behoulden  to  the 
likes  of  me,  for  a  compliment;  so  your  honour's  lordship  can 
make  me  any  compliment  you  plaise,  when  we're  parting,  by 
and  bye." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Lord  Warrinordon,  still  amused  at 
Jim's  way  of  arrangino-  the  punctilio  of  obligation, — "  you  pay 
me  the  compliment  of  driving  me,  and  I  pay  you  a  compliment 
of  another  kind,  equal  in  value." 

"Long  life  to  your  lordship's  honour,"  cried  Jim;  "that's 
it,  exactly  ;"  and  off  he  walked  to  "  give  a  touch"  to  the  har- 
ness. 

"Jim,  are  those  horses  good  T'  inquired  his  lordship. 

"Is  it  my  bastes  your  honour's  asking  about  1  to  be  sure  they 
are ;  don't  you  see  'em,  my  Lord  V  assuming  a  look  of  extreme 
surprise. 

"Ifl'osee  them,  Jim,"  replied  the  English  lord,  laughing 
with  all  the  bonhommie  of  a  candidate  for  the  "  sweet  voices" 
of  an  Irish  county;  "and  because  I  see  they  don't  look  good, 
I  want  to  know  from  you'if  they  really  are." 

"  Looks  are  decaiteful,  my  lord,  sometimes  ;  them,  now,  are 
quality  bastes,  for  all  they  don't  seem  so  ;  the  raal  quality  I 
mane,  that  has  no  concate  about  'em,  like  your  honour,  for  all 
the  world  ;  barring  they  don't  look  so  like  quality  bastes  as 
your  honour's  lordship  does  like  a  quality  gintleman.  But 
'tisn't  every  one,  you  know,  my  lord,  that  has  the  chance  to  be 
born  grand  and  iligant,  and  clever-looking,"  glancing,  with  a 
smile  half  shy,  half-servile,  at  the  really  distinguished  figure  of 
Lord  Warringdon. 

Now,  although  the  noble  Viscount  had  read  in  so  many  bright 
eyes,  and  had  even  heard  from  so  many  beautiful  lips,  that  he 
was  one  of  the  most  distingue  men  that  the  owners  of  the 
said  eyes  and  lips  had  ever  seen,  he  was  not  so  blasSy  with  re- 
spect to  compliments  on  his  personal  appearance,  as  to  hear 
with  unconcern  the  impression  he  had  made  upon  a  ragged 
Irish  post-boy;  so  he  inquired  no  more  into  the  merits  of  Jem's 
"bastes,"  but,  still  laughing,  jumped  into  the  carriage. 

"Curious  people,  these  Irish  fellows,"  he  observed  to  Mr. 
Wilmot,  who  was  already  seated,  "how  well  the  rogue  turned 
off  my  inquiries  about  his  horses  !  you  could  furnish  all  Europe 
with  diplomatists  as  well  as  soldiers." 

"Very  right;  we  are,  indeed,  a  most  devilishly  troublesome 

set  of  fellows;  a  nation  of  soldiers  and   cabinet  ministers  en 

hrut^  but  not  so  difficult  to  manage,  after  all,  if  any  one  would 

take  the  tro^Hbof  trying;  talk  and  laugh  with  our  lower  or- 

^^  3 


1 


26 


CANVASSING. 


ders,  and  you  win  them  at  once  ;  and,  since  you  start  on 
this  plan,  I  predict  that  your  lordship  will  make  a  successful 
canvass;  you  have  already,  1  see,  made  a  conquest  of  Jim," 
he  added,  smiling:  "but  what  are  we  waiting  fori  Kelly! 
bid  him  drive  on,  and  pretty  fast,  too,  or  we  slialj  be  late  on 
the  road;  recollect  we  have  five-and  thirty  miles  to  go;  you 
will  excuse  my  taking  the  master  on  me,"  said  he,  turning  to 
his  companion;  "  for  the  miles  are  Irish  ones,  too." 

"  Take  care,  for  your  life,  would  you  dhrive  fast,  Jim,"  said 
Kelly,  as  he  mounted  one  of  his  master's  horses,  the  other 
having  been  given  to  Lord  Warringdon's  gentleman-in-waiting 
— "  Never  mind  what  the  masther  says,  Jim  ;  dhrive  asy,  and 
God  bless  you,  or  you'll  smash  us  to  atoms." 

*'  A-thin,  Mr.  Kelly,  one  would  think,  to  hear  you,  you  thought 
you  were  spaking  to  an  ignoramus;  sure  it  isn't  the  first  time 
I  wint  his  honour's  roads,  nor  won't  be  the  last,  either,  plase 
God  !  Troth,  I've  a  right  to  know  'em  by  this  time,  as  well 
as 'the  nose  in  my  face.  1  wouldn't  dhrive  hard,  if  you'd  give 
my  weight  in  goold,  since  the  tinrie  I  dhruv  the  officer's 
ladies  up  to  Misther  McAl pine's.  They  never  gave  me  pace 
or  ase  till  I  wint  smart ;  well,  I  done  as  I  was  hid  ;  and,  by 
my  conscience,  if\  did,  sure  I  smashed  my  pole." 

"  Murdher  !  smashed  your  pole  !  and  spilt  the  ladies  on  the 
road,  Jim?" 

*'  Troth  an'  I  didn't,  Mr.  Kelly." 

*'  A-thin,  what  did  ye  do  with  them,  then,  Jim  1" 

"  Dhruv  'em  without  a  taste  of  a  pole,  good  or  bad." 

"You  did,  Jim?" 

"I  did,  in  troth." 

"  A-lhin,  tell  us  how,  and  God  bless  ye." 

"  Ah  !  a  way  of  my  own,  I  have,"  replied  Jim,  looking  very 
knowing,  "An'  /wouldn't  tell  id  to  any  body,  'case  I'd  lose 
my  custom,  intirely,  for  dhriving  through  desperate  places; 
there's  ne'er  a  boy  at  Mr.  Castelloe's  but  mysel'  that  can  go 
that  road,  and  come  back  alive;  so  1  get  all  the  jobs  on  id; 
and  they're  the  best  to  be  had  any  where — always  worth  three 
half-crowns  more  to  me  than  any  o'  the  others.  So,  Mr.  Kelly^ 
I'll  do  my  endeavours  not  to  smash  the  vahacle  ;  hut  if  I  have 
that  bad  luck,  I'll  do  as  you  bid  me,  purtend  that  it  was  all  my 
own  fault,  or  lay  the  blame  on  my  poor  bastes.  Troth,  the 
young  Lord  wasn't  out  in  regard  of  'em;  they're  miserable 
looking  craturs,  sure  enough  ;  they  were  the  worst  [  could 
find  in'^he  stable  ;  so  'twill  be  quite  as  aisy  toj^e  him  think, 


CANVASSING.  27 

if  he  sticks  in  a  bog-hole,  'tis  all  their  doin's,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  dhriver" — he  added,  smilingr  roguishly. 

At  length  they  drove  otT,  followed  by  the  blessings  of  the 
crowd  at  the  inn-door,  in  exchange  for  some  more  substantial 
tokens  of  good  will  on  the  part  of  the  new  candidate,  and  that 
of  their  old  and  popular  representative.  The  road  lay  through 
a  wild  country,  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  human  habitation. 
For  the  first  few  miles  they  whirled  along  tolerably  well,  and 
Jim  looked  behind,  every  now  and  then,  with  a  smile  of  triumph. 
As  they  proceeded,  however,  the  jolting  became  "rather  disa- 
greeable." A  little  further  on,  "  very  disagreeable," — and  at 
last  Lord  Warringdon  exclaimed  at  it,  "  as  damnably  disatrree- 
able." 

"  Jim  !"  he  cried  "  drive  more  carefully,  you  are  shaking  me 
to  death  !" 

"Shaking  you  to  death  !  my  God,  am  1,  my  Lord  1  think  o' 
that,  ril  drive  asy — that  was  just  a  bad  spot  that  I  didn't 
know  was  in  id,  my  Lord  ;  an'  I  wend  her  how  it  came  in  id  ; 
for  this  road  gets  the  applause  from  all  the  roads  in  Ireland, 
for  its  goodness,  my  Lord — 'tis  as  smooth  as  butlhermilk, 
mostly." 

"It  is  anything  but  that,  now,"  muttered  his  Lordship. 

Jolt  after  jolt  came,  and  each  time  the  veracious  Jim  assured 
his  Lordship  that  "'twas  the  last  bad  spot"  on  this  best  road 
in  Ireland. 

"The  devil  himself  must  have  possessed  me,  when  I  first 
thought  of  coming  into  this  infernal  country,"  said  the  wretched 
candidate  to  himself,  as  he  looked  on  the  dreary  waste  around, 
and  felt  the  rocks  under  him.  "And  I  dare  not  complain — but 
must  grin  with  delight  all  the  time  I  am  becoming  pounded 
into  a  jelly  !" 

"  Poor  devil,  I  pity  him,  really  I  do,  upon  my  soul  !"  mur- 
mur£d  Wilmot,  as  he  looked  on  the  compressed  lips  and  con- 
tracted brows  of  his  youn^  companion,  which  bore  evidence 
alike  to  the  extremity  of  his  suffering,  and  the  heroism  of  his 
endurance,— "This  road  is  really  very  bad,"  said  he,  with  the 
lone  of  a  man  surprised  at  the  discovery  of  a  certain  quality 
never  before  suspected  to  exist  in  an  admired  object—"  I  am 
afraid  you  are  sadly  shaken,  my  dear  Lord  T" 

"  A  little,"  replied  the  Viscount,  endeavouring  to  suppress  a 
groan—"  Oh  it  is  nothing  at  all ;  a  mere  triflef  How  far  are 
we  from  Castle  Wilmot  now  ]" 

"  Not  yet  quite  half-way,"  answered  Mr.  Wilmot. 


28  CANVASSING. 

"  My  God  !  I  shall  never  qpI  alive  there,"  sighed  his  un- 
fortunate ronnpanion  to  himself. 

Mr.  Wilmot  did  his  best  to  beguile  the  tedium,  and,  alas! 
tortures,  of  the  journey,  by  telling  amusing  anecdotes  of  the 
gentry  and  peasantry  in  his  neighbourhood.  Nay,  he  took 
more  interesting  ground,  and  counted  up  the  best  interests,  and 
enlarged  on  the  best  way  of  conciliating  them  ;  in  fact,  laboured 
to  combine  instruction  and  entertainment  in  his  discourse.  And 
Lord  VVarritigdon  tried  all  that  man  could  try,  to  laugh  at  his 
host's  capital  stories.  He  knew  that,  both  for  the  sake  of  the 
jester,  and  for  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  jest,  if  he  had  a  laugh 
in  him,  he  should  bestow  it  on  the  present  occasion  ;  but  the 
most  he  could  accomplish  was  a  smile;  and  even  that  was  a 
miserable  attempt,  resembling  rather  the  convulsion  effected  by 
the  galvanic  battery,  than  the  graceful  indication  of  pleasure, 
which  usually  set  off  the  handsome  mouth  of  the  once  capti- 
vating, but  now  suffering  "exclusive." 

All  he  had  hitherto  endured,  however,  was  but  "the  crump- 
ling of  the  roses"  compared  with  what  followed.  The  concus- 
sions became  absolutely  terrific — a  seventy-four  running  aground 
might  experience  something  like  the  joltings  and  bumpings  of 
our  poor  carriage,  as  it  swung  from  side  to  side  ;  now  ascend- 
ing to  the  heavens  above,  now  descending  to  the  depths  below 
— now  Mr.  Wilmot  tumbling  over  Lord  Warringdon,  and  now, 
for  variet}'^.  Lord  Warringdon  tumbling  over  Mr.  Wilmot. 

"What  luck  we  had,  sir,"  said  Kelly,  putting  his  head  in 
at  the  carriage-window,  and  assuming  a  guileless,  innocent 
expression  of  face,  which  deceived  even  his  master — "  What 
luck  we  had,  to  get  this  vagabone  of  a  Jim  to  dhrive  us — he's 
as  dhrunk  as  a  piper." 

"Is  he  really]"  inquired  Mr.  Wilmot. 

"Sure,  if  he  wasn't  dhrunk,  and  as  dhrunk  as  a  baste,  too," 
continued  he,  looking  steadily  at  his  master,  and  glancing  with 
a  smile  at  Lord  Warringdon,  who  sat  with  his  head  between 
his  hands,  utterly  exhausted, — "  Sure  if  he  wasn't,  he  wouldn't 
be  dhriving  the  way  lie  is;  isn't  he  shaking  you  to  bits? 
doesn't  that  show  he  must  be  dhrunk,  when  any  one  but  him- 
self, the  blackguard,  would  dhrive  so  aisy,  you  might  thread  a 
needle,  going  along.  I'm  afraid  you  are  terribly  joulted,  my 
Lord  ■?"  added  Mr.  Kelly,  in  a  commiserating  tone. 
"I  am  half  dead,"  faintly  articulated  his  Lordship. 
"  Upon  my  conscience,"  continued  Kelly,  "I've  the  greatest 
mind  in  the  world  to  dismount,  and  give  thatdhrunken  baste  of 


CANVASSING.  29 

3  Jim  as  fine  a  flogging  as  he  ever  got  in  his  life,  for  his  ifiipi- 
dence." 

*♦  For  God's  sake  do  not,"  cried  Lord  VVarringdon,  "  or  we 
shall  be  left  on  the  road  all  night." 

"Won't  I  my  Lord  ?  Oh,  very  well,  1  won't  if  your  Lord- 
ship doesn't  like  Td  do  it,"  replied  Kelly,  affecting  submission 
to  Lord  Warringdon's  request;  "but  if  it  wasn't  for  you,  my 
Lord,  upon  my  word  and  credit,  Jim  Naughten  would  be  very 
little  obleeoed  to  himself  this  inornin',  I  can  tell  him  that.  Jim  ! 
you  dhrunken  baste!  how  dare  you  dhrive  that  way?  if  it 
wasn't  for  Lord  Warringdon's  begging  you  off,  I'd  bate  you 
while  ever  I  could  stand  over  ye,  you  villain,  ye  I" 

"  Long  life  to  your  Lordship  !"  roared  Jim,  "  long  life  to 
your  honour's  Lordship,  Member  of  Parliament  for  the  county 

of jlonglife  to  him,  he's  a  jewel  of  a  boy — huzza  !  huzza  !" 

and  he  whirled  his  hat  over  his  head,  playing  all  the  antics  be- 
seeming his  supposed  condition. 

Kelly  cantered  to  his  side — "  I'm  proud  of  ye,  Jim  ;  I  always 
knew  you  were  the  devil  for  dhriving — but  upon  my  word  and 
credit,  Jim,  you  flog  all  ever  I  seen,  for  dhriving  to-day.  Any 
one  but  yourself,  would  have  had  the  carriage  in  smithereens 
long  ago.  Faith,  Jim,  I  think  you  must  have  a  diarum  from 
the  good  people  for  dhriving." 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Kelly,  you  pay  me  too  many  compliments  en- 
tirely, sir,"  replied  Jim,  trying  to  look  abaslied — "I'm  proud 
to  have  your  applause,  but  indeed,  it  far  exceeds  my  desarvingrs, 
Mr.  Kelly." 

Jim  thought  no  such  thing;  on  the  contrary,  no  praise  he 
ever  received,  came  up  to  his  notions  of  his  own  merit  on  a 
bad  road.     "  How's  the  mastherl     I'm  afraid  he's  kilt." 

"  No,  indeed,  thank  God,  he  isn't,"  replied  Mr.  Kelly,  "  he's 
used  to  it,  you  know,  Jim." 

"  And  the  other  poor  cratur  1"  demanded  Jim. 

"  Oh — he's  bedevilled,  intirely." 

"  A-thin  is  he?  no  wondher,  troth  ;  God  knows  mysel' pities 
him,  the  cratur  !"  and  here  Jim  "  gave  a  taste  of  the  whip"  to 
his  "  bastes,"  and  Mr.  Kelly  fell  back  to  do  the  civilities  by 
Mr.  Symmons,  Lord  Warringdon's  gentleman  ;  not  that  Mr. 
Kelly  particularly  affected  Mr.  Symmons,  but  because  Mr. 
Kelly  stood  in  the  light  of  host  to  Mr.  Symmons,  who  had 
hitherto  ridden  along,  silent  and  disdainful,  as  if  he  were  the 
very  incarnation  of  superciliousness  ;  Lord  Warringdon's  suc- 
cess among  the  wild  Irish  not  enough  interesting  him  to  induce 
Mr.  Symmons  to  compromise  his  own  pretensions  to  ton^  by 
3* 


30  CANVASSING. 

condescendinop  to  commune  with  such  utter  barbarians.  At 
length,  however,  he  broke  silence. 

*' I  always  thought  that  people  of  fortune  in  Ireland,  kept 
their  carriages." 

*'  You  thought  very  right,  Mr.  Symmons,"  replied  Mr. 
Kelly  with  his  usual  urbanity. 

"  But  they  are  not  like  English  ones,  you  know." 

"To  be  sure  they  are;  what  else  would  they  be  like  ?"  re- 
joined the  Irishman  of  cast  clothes. 

"Why,  English  carriages  are  built  for  English  roads;  and 
Irish  carriages  are  contrived,  of  course,  for  Irish  roads." 

"Irish  roads!"  repeated  Kelly,  with  affected  astonishment, 
but  very  genuine  displeasure — "Irish  roads,"  he  continued, 
resuming  his  former  tone  of  civility,  "  are  like  English  ones,  I 
suppose." 

"  Indeed,  I  suppose  no  such  thing,"  replied  Mr.  Symmons. 

"Why,  what's  the  difference?"  asked  the  other. 

"Rather  an  important  one,"  returned  Mr.  Symmons,  sarcas- 
tically. "  The  English  roads  are  proverbially  the  best  in  Eu- 
rope ;  and  the  Irish  ones,  judging  by  my  own  experience,  are 
the  worst. — As  for  this,  to  be  candid  with  you,  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it,  my  good  fellow." 

"  Well,  'tis  something,  any  how,  to  see  what  one  never  seen 
before,"  replied  Mr.  Kelly,  with  provoking  quietness.  "  May 
be  you'll  be  seeing  more  surprising  things  than  that  again,  be- 
fore you  lave  us." 

"Indeed  !"  rejoined  the  "  exclusive"  valet,  not  condescend- 
ing, however,  to  make  any  inquiries  touching  these  wonders. 
"  Pray  when  shall  we  arrive  at  the  next  town  ?" 

"There's  no  town  in  it,"  returned  his  companion,  sulkily. 

"  No  town !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Symmons,  much  surprised. 
"  Well,  village,  or  whatever  you  call  it — where  can  I  procure 
a  bowl  of  soup  ?" 

"  Cock  ye  up  with  your  bowl  of  soup  !"  muttered  the  angry 
Hibernian — "yeimpident,  concated  whelp  I" — then  he  conti- 
nued aloud — "  We  don't  stop  at  any  place,  only  to  beat  the 
horses."  Kelly  meant  to  bait,  not  to  flagellate  them,  as  his 
occasionally  affected  fine  pronunciation  might  have  led  the  read- 
er to  imagine. 

"  I  shall  be  starved,  man,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Symmons;  "  why 
the  deuce  didn't  ye  tell  me  this  before  ?" 

"  Why  didn't  I  tell  you  what?"  inquired  Mr.  Kelly,  compo- 
sedly. 

"Why,  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  got  to  eat  in  this  beg — " 


CANVASSING.  31 

he  stopped  abruptly,  catching  a  glance  of  the  Irishman's  eye, 
which  he  did  not  think  encouraged  his  finishing  the  sentence. 
"  I  meant,  Mr.  Kelly,  to  ask  you  why  you  did  not  tell  me  that 
there  was  no  Inn  in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  I  should  then 
have  put  up  a  few  sandwiches,  or  a  cold  chicken,  or  so,  just  to 
keep  up  my  strength  a  little." 

"To  tell  you  the  thruth,  Mr.  Symmons,  I  thought  when  the 
masthers  done  without  could  chickens,  the  servants  might:" 
returned  Mr.  Kelly,  with  imperturbable  composure. 

"Confound  the  fellow's  impudence!"  muttered  Mr.  Sym- 
mons :  "servants  and  masters,  upon  my  word  !  there's  radical- 
ism and  equality  with  a  vengeance.  "  Lord  Warringdon,"  he 
resumed,  aloud,  "can  fast  better  than  1  can — I  have  a  bad  di- 
gestion, and  have  been  ordered  by  my  physician  to  eat  frequently 
and  at  regular  hours." 

"  The  ape  !  I  wish  to  the  Lord  I  had  lave  of  the  masther  to 
give  him  something  of  my  own  cooking,  to  help  his  digestion." 

A  silence  of  some  moments  ensued,  which  was  broken  a 
second  time  by  Mr.  Symmons. 

"  Pray,  when  shall  we  come  to  your  master's  estate  1" 

"  My  masther's  estate  !"  cried  Mr.  Kelly,  "sure  what  else 
have  you  been  thravelling  through,  all  day  ?  and  havn't  half 
gone  over  it  yet;"  he  added,  with  all  the  pride  of  an  Irish  fol- 
lower. 

"  Humph  !  so  all  this  bog,"  cried  Mr.  Symmons,  laying  some- 
what offensive  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  "all  this  bog,  then, 
is  the  Wilmot  estate — "  and  something  very  like  a  sneer  play- 
ed round  Mr.  vSymmons'  mouth. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Kelly,  very  wrathful,  "all  this  bog,  and 
some  more  bogs  besides,  and  a  great  dale  that  isn't  bog,  belongs 
to  Misther  Wilmot  of  Wilmot  Castle — the  first  intherest  in  the 
county,  and  the  largest  property  in  the  province — upon  my  con- 
science I"  he  muttered  in  a  lower  key — "I  never  had  so  much 
throuble  in  my  life  to  keep  my  hands  off  a  concated  ass  of  his 
kind,  than  I  have  this  blessed  minute,  not  just  to  take  and  chuck 
him,  far  and  asy,  into  the  middle  of  that  same  bog  he's  passing 
his  remark  upon,  so  mighty  busy  !" 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  proceeded  Mr.  Symmons,  "where  all 
your  voters  come  from — I  have  not  seen  a  house  yet,  nor  a  tree, 
uor  anything  giving  lone  the  idea  of  human  habitation.  You 
know  the  capital  stories  we  have  in  England  about  Irish  voters?" 
he  went  on  facetiously — "  shall  I  tell  you  one  of  them  ?" 
;^    "  I'd  advise  ye  not :"  answered  Kelly,  speaking  very  quietly, 


32  CANVASSING. 

but  looking  as  if  he  were  just  in  the  humour  to  enforce  his  re- 
conomendation  if  necessary  by  some  argument  more  cogent  than 
words. 

Just  then,  luckily  perhaps,  for  Mr.  Symmons'  bones,  Mr. 
Kelly's  attention  was  attracted  towards  Jim,  whose  cries  of 
"  Hee-up  !  hee-up  !"  resounded  in  every  note  of  the  Irish  scale 
of  intonation  ;  and  then  Jim  chirped,  coaxed,  and  cursed,  talked, 
exhorted,  and  flogged  ;  did  everything  in  his  power,  in  fact,  by 
reason  and  coercion,  to  induce  his  horses  to  get  out  of  the  bog- 
hole,  into  which  they  had  sunk  up  to  their  shoulders  ;  but,  alas 
the  harder  he  flogged,  the  deeper  they  floundered — he  was  at 
his  wit's  ends. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Jim  ]"  inquired  Kelly,  who  had  seen 
the  confusion,  while  engaged  in  his  amiable  colloquy  with  Mr. 
Symmons,  and  had  hastened  to  learn  the  cause.  "  What's  the 
matter,  Jim  ]"  he  repeated. 

"Oh!  my  God!"  returned  Jim,  impatiently — "havn't  ye 
eyes  in  your  head,  man?  don't  ye  see  what's  the  mattherl  I'm 
bogged,  and,  more  be  token,  'twas  in  this  very  same  place  I 
smashed  my  pole  in,  last  year:  "  the  curse  of  the  cross  upon 
it!'" 

"  Give  'em  a  taste,  of  the  whip,  Jim." 

"  Give  'em  a  taste  of  the  divil  !  A-thin,  Mr.  Kelly,  will  ye 
jist  throw  a  look  at  the  craturs,  and  see  the  condition  they  are 
in — up  to  their  shoulders  in  bog !  What's  this  for,  at  all  ]" 
roared  Jin)j  tearing  his  hair  in  desperation  and  flinging  his  hat 
on  the  ground — "  What  in  the  world  will  I  do  ?  Mr.  Kelly — 
God  bless  you  I  and  tell  me  what's  to  become  of  us,  at  all  !" 

*' What  are  you  stopping  for?"  cried  Mr.  Wilmot  from  one 
window.  "Has  any  accident  happened  the  carriage?"  cried 
Lord  Warringdon,  from  the  other. 

"  No  sir — no  my  lord  :"  replied  the  veracious  worthies  ad- 
dressed— "nothing  at  all,  only  a  bit  o' the  harness  that  wint 
wrono." 

"  Mr.  Kelly — "  re-demanded  Jim,  half-crying,  "  what  will  I 
do  at  all  ]" 

Mr.  Kelly  mused  a  second  ;  then  mounted  the  coach-box — 
surveyed  the  country  in  all  directions  ;  and  his  face  suddenly 
brightened — "  Now  we  have  it!"  he  exclaimed,  joyfully — and 
placing  his  bent  fingers  in  his  mouth,  whistled  shrilly  and  long. 
Almost  immediately,  figures  were  discernible,  moving  along  the 
brow  of  a  hill,  that  skirted  the  road — and  in  less  than  five 
minutes,  fifty  or  sixty  stout  fellows  came  jumping  and  hollow^ 
ing  across  the  bog. 


CANVASSING. 


33 


'^  Glory  be  to  the  Lord,  for  all  his  mercies  this  day  !"  sighed 
Jim,  makiner  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  We  are  going  to  be  robbed  and  murdered  :"  thought  Mr. 
Symmons — "  these  Irish  monsters  are  capable  of  any  atrocity  ;" 
and  he  was  preparing  to  save  himself  from  the  ferocious 
Mountaineers,  by  clapping  spurs  to  his  horse,  but  was  prevent- 
ed by  a  command  from  his  master  to  examine  into  the  state  of 
the  springs  of  the  carriage;  Lord  Warringdon  having  certain 
misgivings  as  to  the  dependence  to  be  placed  on  Jim's  asser- 
tion, "  that  nothing  at  all  was  the  matter." 

When  the  group  of  peasants  saw  that  Mr.  Wilmot  was  one 
of  the  boi^ged  travellers,  they  threw  up  their  hats  and  shouted 
for  joy. 

"  Here  !  boys  !"  cried  Kelly,  "  lift  it  out,  body  and  bones — 
horses  and  all  !  first  three  cheers  for  the  masther,  and  then  put 
your  shoulders  to  the  wheels — here  it  goes !  a  long  pull,  a 
sthrong  pull,  and  a  pull  altogether!  now  boys!" 

As  desired,  they  gave  first  the  three  cheers,  so  long  and  loud, 
that  Lord  Warringdon  pressed  his  hands  to  his  ears — they  then 
"put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel,"  and  placed  the  carriage 
once  more  on  Terra  Firma. 

"  Thank  ye,  my  men  :"  said  Mr.  Wilmot. 

*' Thank  ye,  my  fine  fellows:"  said  Lord  Warringdon. 

"  Ye're  welcome,  ye're  welcome,  to  that,  and  more ;"  return- 
ed they,  good-humouredly. 

"This  is  Lord  Warringdon,  come  to  canvass  the  county;" 
observed  Mr.  Wilmot. 

"And  yourselves,  my  honest  fellows  among  the  number;" 
— added  Lord  Warringdon. 

"  Och  !  the  masther  is  the  one  you  must  ax,  my  lord :"  re- 
plied the  spokesman,  with  a  smile — "  we  always  vote  the  way 
the  masther  plazes,  you  know  ;"  he  added,  however,  with  the 
courtesy  characteristic,  (in  those  days,)  of  an  Irish  peasant,  and 

more  particularly  of  a Irish  peasant.  "  Not  but,  indeed, 

we'd  be  glad,  t'would  be  for  your  iionour's  lordship,  he'd  bid 
us  vote;  ye're  welcome  to  Ireland,  and  to  the  county  of ." 

"Thank  ye,  thank  ye,  my  honest  fellows — here's  a  couple  of 
guineas  to  drink  your  master's  health." 

"And  here's  something  to  drink  success  to  Lord  Warring- 
don ;"  said  Mr.  Wilmot. 

"  Long  life  to  ye  both  !"  cried  many  voices — "the  masther 
and  the  masther's  frind  for  ever  !" 

"  Lord  Warringdon  for  ever  !"  cried  Mr.    Wilmot,   who  de- 


34  CANVASSING. 

sired  to  give  the  candidate  a  more  definite  designation  thah  that 
of  "  the  masther's  friend." 

"  Warringdon  for  ever!"  they  echoed — "Warringdon  and 
Wilmot  for  ever  !  huzza  !  huzza  !"  and  they  shouted  after  the 
departing  travellers,  with  all  the  energy  and  deafening  clamour 
of  three-score  of  Irishmen,  with  money  in  their  pockets  and 
good  will  in  their  hearts. 

"  Well,  misther  Symmons,  what  do  ye  think  of  Irish  ^voters,'' 
now  ]  what  would  ye  think  to  tell  one  of  them  boys  the  comical 
stories  ye  have  in  England  about  'em  ]" 

Mr.  Symmons  was  pleased  to  observe  that  •'  they  were  fine 
fellows,"  and  there  the  conversation  ended. 

The  road  began  to  improve  as  they  drew  near  to  Castle  Wilmot. 
Traces  of  Jim  Flanagan's  handy-work  became  apparent,  by  the 
diminution  of  jolts  and  accession  of  speed.  Lord  Warringdon, 
over-powered  with  fatigue,  had  sunk  into  a  pleasing  oblivion 
of  aching  bones.  Mr.  Wilmot  amused  himself  with  his  thoughts. 
Mr.  Symmons  was  grand — Mr,  Kelly,  and  his  humble  friend, 
and  ardent  admirer,  Jim  Naughton,  agreed  that  the  above-men- 
tioned Mr.  Symmons  "was  a  fantastical  omadhoun,  that  would 
never  be  good  for  anything  till  he  got  a  taste  of  the  shillelagh  ;" 
and  thus  all  journeyed  along,  until  the  plantations  of  Castle 
Wilmot  gladdened  their  sight.  Bonfires  were  burning  on  all 
the  heights,  far  and  near,  in  honour  of  the  master's  return.  A 
huge  one  was  blazing  at  the  Castle  Wilmot  gate,  in  honour  of 
their  noble  guest ;  and  much  whiskey  was  drunk,  and  much  to- 
bacco smoked,  to  testify  their  joy  on  his  arrival ;  "  lashins,"  of 
both  those  luxuries  having  been  sent  out  by  Lady  Annp.  Lord 
Warringdon  was  aroused  from  his  slumber  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  by  a  shout  of  welcome.  In  the  confusion  of  the  mo- 
ment, he  forgot  where  he  was,  and  seeing  the  huge  fire,  and  the 
wild  countenances  and  tattered  garb  of  the  revellers  gathered 
round  it,  he  half-imagined  he  might  have  fallen  among  a  set  of 
Irish  cannibals,  who  had  prepared  a  fire  to  roast  him  at.  This 
delusion  was,  however,  but  momentary.  Mr.  Wilmot's  kind 
voice,  bidding  him  welcome,  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  his  real 
situation.  He  alighted,  but  could  scarcely  stand,  so  crippled, 
jolted,  and  bruised  was  he.  As  the  mob  huzzaed,  he  tried  to 
bow  and  smile,  however,  and  although  nearly  driven  mad  by 
the  deep  guttural  roar  of  the  men,  and  the  shrill  scream  of  the 
women  and  children,  expressed  himself  delighted  beyond  mea- 
sure at  their  flattering  reception. 

"  Ye'ar  late,  sir ;"  observed  Pat  Murphy,  as  he  led  the  way. 


CANVASSING.  35 

with  lights  into  the  house.  "  My  lady,  and  the  young  ladies, 
was  mighty  unasy  about  you're  not  coming  to  dinner,  sir." 

"  The  road  was  so  bad,"  returned  his  master,  "  we  could  not 
come  sooner." 

"The  road  bad  ]  was  it  indeed,  sirT'  exclaimed  Pat,  "  'tis 
newly  come  to  it,  that's  all  I  can  say — ye're  welcome,  ray 
lord." 

"Thank  ye,  my  good  fellow  :"  replied  his  Lordship.  • 

"Are  you  lame,  my  lord  1  you  seem  to  thread  tinder." 

"No — only  stiff  from  the  jolting:"  he  replied. 

"  That  Jim  must  dhruv  ye  mighty  bad  ;"  observed  Pat. 

"  Bring  us  something  to  eat,  directly,  Pat;"  said  Mr.  VVil- 
mot,  and  meantime  allow  me  to  pioneer  you  to  the  drawing- 
room,  my  lord." 

But  his  lordship  objected  to  appearing  in  such  trim  before 
ladies  ;  it  was  therefore  arranged  that  they  should  sup  by  them- 
selves in  another  room;  and  defer  the  presentation  till  to- 
morrow. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

For  some  days  after  his  arrival  at  Castle-Wilmot,  Lord 
\Yarringdon  continued  to  feel  the  effects  of  Mr.  Wilmot's  roads, 
and  Jim  Naughton's  driving.  Nothing,  however,  could  be 
more  polite  than  were  his  assurances  of  satisfaction,  and,  in- 
deed, admiration,  of  all  he  saw  and  heard,  ate  and  drank,  at 
Castle  Wilmot. 

"  My  journey,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  seems  quite  like  an  in- 
cident, in  a  fairy  tale.  After  having  wandered  through  grand 
and  extensive  solitudes,  under  the  care  of  a  powerful  enchanter, 
at  a  stroke  of  his  wand,  the  scene  changes,  and  I  find  myself 
in  a  noble  and  ancient  castle,  surrounded  b}'  luxuries  of  every 
description  ;  by  all  that  can  charm  the  eye,  or  gratify  the  taste; 
and,  though  last  mentioned,  not  the  least  appreciated,  the  smiles 
of  fair  and  gentle  ladies." 

Under  the  united  influences  of  capital  living  (he  had  game 
and  fish  in  perfection  and  abundance)  and  of  cheerful  society. 
Lord  Warringdon  was  "the  moral  of  a  nice  gentleman,"  if  Pat 
Murphy  be  considered  good  authority  ; — we  think  that  he  is. 


36 


CANVASSING. 


In  fact,  the  candidate  continued  in  hi^h  good  humour,  amused 
at  everything,  and  even,  in  his  turn,  condescended  to  amuse. 

"Amuse!  Warringdon  amuse!  why  he  is  one  of  us,  you 
know;  the  thing  is  impossible  !" 

Dear  people  !  we  crave  a  moment's  explanation.  In  the  first 
place,  pray  recollect  that  your  noble  and  apathetic  brother  is 
no  longer  in  town  ;  alas  !  not  even  in  his  elegant  retirement  in 
the  country  :  nay,  that  he  no  longer  treads  English  soil,  ♦♦  at 
all,  at  all ;  that,  in  fact,  he  is  in  Ireland.  Now,  unfortunately, 
there  is  something  in  the  very  air  of  Ireland  which  acts  on  the 
most  pertinaciously  rigid  muscles,  and  makes  those  laugh  who 
never  laughed  before,  and  never  may  again.  In  the  second  place, 
recollect  that  man  is  a  gregarious  animal.  The  individual, 
separated  by  some  unlucky  chance  from  his  own  herd,  will  fall 
in  with  another  herd  of  his  species.  In  the  third  place,  con- 
sider he  was  not  only  alone  in  a  country  were  apathy  is  igno- 
rantly  mistaken  for  stupidity,  but  also  that  he  was  absolutely 
necessitated,  as  a  candidate,  to  make  himself  popular;  and  now, 
have  we,  even  partially,  succeeded  in  vindicating  your  erring 
friend  ? 

But,  to  continue,  as  we,  story-tellers,  say  : 

The  young  lord,  recollecting  his.father's  caution  concerning 
Lady  Anne's  match-making  talents,  observed  her  carefully ; 
and  to  his  surprise  and  satisfaction,  found  in  her  habitual  man- 
ner a  decided  refutation  of  the  alleged  gift. 

Her  ladyship  had  been  very  pretty  ;  she  was  still  interest- 
ing, and  even  loveable  ;  and  there  were  about  her  a  softness 
and  simplicity  almost  approaching  naivete^  which  quite  per- 
cluded  the  supposition  of  the  existence  of  arrieres  pensees  of  any 
kind.     All  seemed  clear  and  open  as  the  noon-day. 

"  What  a  fool  my  father  must  be,"  thought  the  experienced 
Viscount,  "  to  have  suspected  such  an  unaffected,  unartificial 
"woman  as  this  is,  of  being  a  match-maker  !  I  never  yet  knew 
him  form  a  correct  estimate  of  character ;"  and  so,  principally 
that  he  might  have  the  satisfaction  of  proving  his  father  wrong, 
he  was  unwittingly  running  the  road  to  prove  him  right. 

But  Lady  Anne  only  puzzled  Lord  Warringdon.  She  was, 
in  truth,  a  consummate  actress  :  a  female  Proteus,  who,  if  it  be- 
came absolutely  necessary,  could  change,  at  will,  her  very  na- 
ture. She  loUowed,  to  the  very  letter,  the  scriptural  injunction 
of  "  being  all  things  to  all  men  ;"  and  her  facility  in  penetratingr 
the  motives  and  views  of  others  fully  equalled  the  variety  and 
perfection  of  her  own  powers  of  transformation.     She  instantly 


CANVASSING.  37 

saw,  therefore,   what  was  likely  *'  to  take"  with  Lord  War- 
rino-don,  and  manoeuvred  accordingly. 

Upon  hearing  of  his  intended  visit,  she  had  arranged,  at  once 
to  marry  him   to  one  of  her  daughters  ;   but  could   not  decide 
which,  till  she  should  have  slightly  studied  the  '•''  carte  du pays ^ 
"Though   educated  with  precisely  the  same  care,  my  two 
unmarried  girls  are  provokingly  dissimilar,"  she  said  to  herself; 
to  henself^  observe  ;  for  think  not  that  Lady  Anne  kept  any  other 
confidante  :  "  had  Isabel  Maria's  good  sense,  or  had  Maria  Isa- 
bel's beauty,  I  never  could  meet  any  difficulties  in   my  path. 
But  I  am,  at  present,  placed   thus:  this  man   may,  perhaps,  be 
attracted  by  Isabel's  beauty  ;  but  if  he  should  happen  to  prove 
ugly,  or  silly,  the  world  will   not  get  Isabel  to  take  any  pains 
about  him.     Again ;  Maria,  who  would  make  no  difficulty  as 
to  taking  him,  he  may  not  choose  to  have; — and  so,  and  in  this 
teasing  way,  I  am  continually  thwarted  in  my  best-laid  plans." 
After  the  Viscount's  arrival,  and  that  she  had  reconnoitred 
him.  Lady  Anne  decided  on  marrying  him   to  her  youngest 
daughter.     She  felt,  however,  rather  unwilling  to  hurt  Maria's 
feelings  by  abruptly  announcing  her  fiat ;  and  trusted,  there- 
fore, to  some  favourable  occasion  for  indirectly  conveying  it. 

She  and  Maria  were  sitting  alone,  soon  after  the  appearance 
of  their  guest. 

"  I  have  been  studying  Warringdon's  character  very  care- 
fully," observed  Lady  Atme,  "  and  he  is  suspicious." 
"  Most  young  men  of  fortune  are,"  rejoined  Maria. 
"  I  know  :"  returned  Lady  Anne,  "  that^  however,  I  don't  so 
much  mind  ;  one  could  easily  throw  him  off  his  guard.  But 
I'm  sorry  to  say  he  is  a  thorough  man  of  the  world  ;  has  no 
feeling;  never  will  fall  in  love." 

"'Tisn't  necessary  that  he  should,"  said  Maria,  rising  to 
poke  the  fire. 

"  Not  always  necessary,  I  grant  you  ;   but  certainly  highly 
desirable;  and,  in  this  case,  I  fear,  absolutely  indispensable." 
"  Why  ?"  asked  Maria. 

'♦  Because,"  answered  her  mother,  "  he  is  not  the  sort  of 
man  one  can  easily  persuade  to  fancy  himself  in  love,  when  he 
is  not ;  neither  is  he  the  sort  of  man  to  commit  himself,  by  some 
nonsensical  speech,  that  means  nothing,  but  which  a  girl's  fa- 
mily choose  to  call  something,  and  which  a  father,  or  a  brother, 
calls  him  out  for  ;  in  a  word,  he  is  a  man  never  carried  away 
by  feeling ;  always  on  his  guard  not  to  say  what  might  be  made 
a  handle  of  against  him  on  some  future  occasion  ;  cold  and  cau- 
tious, though  apparently  the  very  reverse." 

4 


38  CANVASSING. 

"Bad  materials  for  our  purpose,"  observed  Maria;  *'  bdt 
your  conclusions  jump  with  my  own,  mamma ;  and  so  /,  at  any 
rate,  must  consider  them  to  be  well  founded  ;  and  it  is  clear 
that  I  can  have  no  chance,  and  Isabel,  I  fear,  but  a  bad  one." 

Lady  Anne  secretly  rejoiced  at  this  voluntary  renouncing  of 
all  claims  on  Lord  Warringdon,  on  Maria's  part ;  yet  seem- 
ingly acquiescing  in  her  daughter's  opinion,  observed,  "  I  be- 
lieve you  are  right;  and,  since  you  give  up  the  pursuit,  Maria, 
we  must  jointly  take  measures  in  favour  of  Isabel  ;  for,  although 
I  do  consider  it  difficult  to  manage  him,  I  do  not,  by  any  means, 
look  upon  it  as  impossible.  To  begin  our  one  little  plot,  then ; 
— whatever  either  of  us  may  think  of  Warrin^don,  we  must 
say  nothing  to  Isabel  on  the  subject,  but  deceive  her,  like  a 
child,  for  her  own  good — she  must  imagine  herself  captivated 
by  him,  or  she  will  never  even  try  to  attract  him  ;  that  is,  in  a 
serious,  business-like  way — you  know  all  her  romantic  non- 
sense about  affections  and  sym[)athies.  Now,  Warringdon  is 
incapable  of  loving  anything  but  himself,  but  she  must  not 
think  so,  or  she  would  not  love  him." 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  making  her  love  him,"  interrupted 
Maria,  "  or  even  fancy  she  does,  if  he  be,  as  you  say,  too  cold 
to  fall  in  love,  himself,  and  too  cunning  to  suffer  any  body  to 
marry  him,  if  he  does  not .?" 

"Very  true,"  rejoined  Lady  Anne,  "  but  I  will  make  him, 
too,  dream  that  he  is  in  love." 

"  Dream  it!"  exclaimed  Maria,  laughing,  "  is  it  a  blase  man 
like  that]  dear  mammal  what  can  you  be  thinking  of? — a  sim- 
ple boy,  just  come  of  age,  brought  up  in  a  country  clergyman's 
family,  one  might  possibly  persuade  out  of  his  own  senses;  but, 
even  you,"  she  added,  playfully  tapping  her  mother's  cheek, 
"  would  fail  in  such  an  experiment  on  a  man  about  town,  like 
our  right  honourable  and  well  esteemed  guest,  Viscount  War- 
ringdon— dream  it,  indeed  ! — never — never!" 

Lady  Anne  listened  with  the  utmost  composure  to  her  daugh- 
ter's mockery,  and  proceeded  thus: — "The  difficulty  you  state 
is  a  considerable  one,  I  admit,  indeed  1  have  before  hinted  it 
myself — yet,  I  hope,  by  my  mode  of  attack,  to  prove  it  is  not, 
at  least,  insuperable — Lord  Warringdon,  "wherever  he  goes, 
finds  himself  an  object  of  attraction  to  daughters,  and  of  specu- 
lation to  mothers — he  is  therefore  continually  on  the  qui  vive, 
like  the  garrison  of  a  besieged  town,  in  fear  of  a  cotip  de  main, 
in  fact,  he  is — mark  me,  on  his  guard  against  designing  mam- 
mas ;  but  in  me  he  shall  nothing  find  save  simplicity  and  inno- 
cence." 


CANVASSING.  39 

*'  Yes,  but  as  you  want  him  to  devour  Isabel,  and  not  your- 
self, what  good  will  all  the  simplicity  and  innocence  in  the 
world,  on  your  part,  siornify  1"  interrupted  Maria,  with  a  laugh. 
"You  must  give  me  time,  my  dear  Maria,  to  develope  my 
plans.  He  never  can  suspect  so  indifferent  and  unguarded  a 
mother  as  I  shall  appear  to  him  to  be;  he  must  acquit  me,  at 
once,  of  deep  design — of  malice  prepense — of  premeditated 
evil.  More  than  that.  I  shall  make  him  think  not  only  that  I 
do  not  want  his  alliance,  but  that  I  actually  avoid  it." 
"And  how  will  you  contrive  that]" 

*'  By  appearing  to  have  somebody  else  in  view  for  Isabel." 
"That  would  be  an  excellent  method  certainly,  but  who  can 
you  have  in  view?" 

"  INIcAlpine,"  replied  Lady  Anne. 

"  ^IcAli)ine!"  echoed  Maria;  "  Warringdon  will  never 
think  that  you  could  prefer  such  a  creature  to  him.*' 

"  Yes,  he  must  though  ;  for  I  shall  give  him  4o  understand 
that  Isabel  is  engaged  to  Mc Alpine.  You  know  he  is  dying 
for  her,  and  the  least  encouragement  would  be  enough  to  brin° 
him  in  her  feet."  °  ° 

"  Yes,"  said  Maria,  "  but  Isabel  will  never  consent  to  a  pro- 
ject so  full  of  what  she  would  call  artifice  and  deception." 

"  I  don't  intend  that  she  shall  know  we  have  any  project  of 
the  kind — [  shall  persuade  her  that  I  really  wish  her  to  marrv 
McAlpine."  ^ 

"  Still  I  cannot  see,  for  the  life  of  me,  how  persuading  her  to 
marry  McAlpine,  is  to  be  the  means  of  marrying  her  to  War- 
ringdon." 

"  Ygu  are  really  very  dull  this  morning,  my  dear  Maria.  I 
do  not  intend,  of  course,  absolutely  persuading' her  to  marry  Mc 
Alpine,  only  making  her  and  every  one  else  think  that  I  do." 
"  Ah,  yes,  now  I  understand  your  meaning  perfectly,"  re- 
joined Maria,  "  but  if  Warringdon  is  not  in  love  with  her,  him- 
self, what  will  he  care  whom  she  marries  ]" 

"  I  know  human  nature,  at  least,  men-of-fashion-nature, 
better  than  you  do,  Maria.  Lord  Warringdon  is  a  man  of 
pretension,  vain  of  his  person,  vain  of  his'' fashion,  vain  of 
his  rank  and  position  in  society,  vain  of  his  talent  (he  has 
some),  he  cannot,  therefore,  exist  without  beingr  admired  ;  his 
vanity  then  will  be  gratified  by  the  preference  which  Isabel  will 
unconsciously  betray,  for  she  is  a  bad  dissembler— and,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  will  be  piqued  by  ray  apparent  neglio-ence — so, 
to  spite  the  mother,  he  will  marry  the  daughter— is  not  that  a 
tolerable  scheme  V 


40  CANVASSING. 

"  Very,"  answered  Maria,  musingr. 

*•  And  feasible  ]"  asked  her  mother. 

*'  Humph,  as  for  that,  I  have  m}'  doubts;  to  me  it  appears 
somewhat  theoretical." 

"  I  wager  you  a  Chantilly  veil  I  succeed,"  said  Lady  Anne, 
smiling. 

*' Done  !"  cried  Maria.  And  here  the  conversation  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  visitors. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Upon  all  his  canvassing  visits,  within  riding  distance.  Lord 
Warringdon  was  accompanied  by  the  young  ladies  as  well  as 
by  their  father  ;  Lady  Anne's  object  beit)g  to  establish  a  certain 
intimacy  between  the  parties,  before  she  stepped  in,  with  Mr. 
McAlpine,  in  her  hand,  to  break  it  up.  These  excursions  were, 
like  most  equestrian  parties  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  highly 
favourable  for  beginning  and  continuing  a  flirtation.  Indeed, 
Lady  Anne  insisted  that  riding  was  infinitely  more  useful  thaa 
walking  for  getting  on  with  the  men,  combining,  as  she  said, 
the  advantages  of  a  tete  a  tete  (which  you  can  always  manage 
without  having  the  air  of  arranging),  with  all  the  gaiety  and 
frankness  uarranled  by  social  manners  and  intercourse.  Then, 
ladies  are  timid  on  horseback,  and  require  many  little  offices 
of  gallantry  and  protection ;  (by  the  M^ay,  it  is  remarkable  a 
woman  seldom  screams  outright,  though  ever  so  scared,  if  the 
man  she  wishes  to  attract  be  at  her  side  ;  her.ear-piercing  appeal 
being  reserved  to  arouse  a  dull,  a  careless,  or  a  straying  attend- 
ant.) 

Upon  the  favourable  occasions  alluded  to,  Isabel  scarce  ever 
pretended  to  be  alarmed,  however, — we  can  say  so  much  for 
her;  but,  when  a  little  frightened,  at  her  horse  sticking  in  a 
bog,  or  backing  towards  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  on  a  mountain 
road,  she  certainly  affected  to  be  more  so;  encouraging,  in  fact, 
rather  than  contending  with  her  fears;  for,  though  not  tutored 
by  her  mother,  Isabel  was  aware  how  interesting  a  woman  ap- 
pears to  a  man  when  claiming,  evidently  against  her  own  will, 
or  design,  his  protection. 

Well,  the  Viscount  proved  a  very  attentive  cavalier;  why 
so  1  as  much  for  the  sake  of  the  daughter's  beauty,  as  the  fa- 


CANVASSINa.  41 

ther's  votes  1  Ask  Lady  Anne.  But  Lord  Warringdon,  him- 
self, said  io  himself,  that  she  chatted  agreeably  ;  was^well-man- 
nered,  and,  altogether,  "  a  very  nice  person." 

Poor  Isabel,  on  her  part,  was  even  better  disposed  towards 
him. — In  her  eyes  he  appeared  to  be  more  than  "a  very  nice 
person  ;" — he  was  a  loveable  one.  tShe  thought  him  striking- 
ly handsome,  and  possessing  all  the  polish  of  high  breeding, 
without  its  coldness.  We  must  add  that  he  could  be  agreeable, 
100,  in  many  ways ;  among  the  rest,  by  telling  anecdotes  of 
people  known  to  his  auditors,  either  personally  or  by  report; 
or  by  repeating  good  things  which  he  had  heard;  and,  as  the 
actor  often  gets  more  credit  by  his  personification  of  a  character 
than  the  author  for  its  delineation  of  it,  so  Lord  Warringdon 
earned  from  Isabel  a  reputation  for  cleverness,  merely  on°  the 
strength  of  his  recollections,  and  adaptation  of  the  cleverness  of 
others.  To  conclude  ;  he  had  spent  much  time  abroad;  spoke 
the  foreign  languages  well, — for  an  Englishman,  surprisingly 
well ;  knew  a  little  of  many  things,  and  took  the  tone  of  know- 
ing a  great  deal  of  all :  in  a  word,  was  just  the  one  to  be  a 
pleasant  fellow  among  men  and  a  "nice  creature"  among  women. 

But  suppose  the  Viscount  had  not  been  heir  to  an  "earldom, 
and  a  hundred  thousand  per  annum,  very  little  encumbered? 
Would  Isabel's  usual  penetration  have  failed,  in  that  case,  to 
discern  in  him  some  points  less  to  his  advantage  ]  Again  we 
say,  ask  Lady  Anne.  And,  like  another  personage,  not  to  be 
named,  just  as  we  speak  of  her  ladyship,  she  re-appears  on  the 
scene. 

The  time  had  come  to  avail  herself  of  Mr.  McAlpine ; — she 
was  a  little  puzzled  how  to  get  at  him  ;  Mr.  Wilmot  entered  the 
room  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  announcing  Mr.  McAlpine's  in* 
tended  arrival  that  evening,  to  dinner. 

Lord  Warringdon  and  Isabel  had  been  looking  over  some 
music,  and  he  was  requesting  her  to  sing,  and  she  was  prepar- 
ing to  oblige  him,  when  her  mother  exclaimed  "  Good  news 
Isabel,  McAlpine  is  to  be  here  almost  immediately;  so  run 
off,"  she  continued,  in  a  lower  tone,  but  still  loud  enough  to  be 
overheard  by  Lord  Warringdon,  "runoff  and  dress;  I  want 
you  to  be  in  your  best  looks  to-day." 

Isabel  stared  in  astonishment. — Her  mother  smiled  : — Isabel 
was  completely  at  fault. 

"It  is  not  time  to  dress  yet,"  she  observed,  returning  to  the 
instrument. 

"Isabel,"  resumed  her  mother,  "  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  a 
moment."     And  so  saying  she  left  the  room,  followed  by  her 

4* 


42  CANVASSING. 

daughter,  who  could  not  help  wondering  why  Mr.  McAlpine** 
arrival  should  be  such  good  news  to  her,  seeing  she  abominated 
him  ;  and  why  she  should  take  more  pains  with  her  toilette  on 
this  day  than  on  any  preceding  one. 

Her  mother  addressed  her  thus  : 

"  My  dear  Isabel,  I  have  particular  reasons,  which  I  will  ex- 
plain to  you  some  other  time,  for  wishing  you  to  please  McAl- 
pine." 

"But  I  cannot  endure  him,  mamma;  you  know  I  cannot, 
interrupted  Isabel. 

•'  lie  is  a  worthy,  excellent  young  man,  and  would  make  you 
a  very  good  husband." 

"  God  forbid  !"  returned  Isabel ;  "  I  would  rather  die  than 
marry  him." 

"Folly,  my  dear;  anyone  who  had  not  a  prior  attachment 
might  very  well  contrive  to  marry  him,  and  to  like  him  very 
well,  too;  and  pray  do  you  like  any  one  elsel" 

"No;"  replied  Isabel,  blushing  and  hesitating. 

"Very  well,  then,"  observed  Lady  Anne,  "  I  request  that, 
since  you  have  nothing  to  object  against  Mr.  McAlpine,  except 
that  you  do  not  happen  to  be  desperately  in  love  with  him,  you 
will  treat  with  more  consideration  than  hitherto  you  have  been 
pleased  to  do ;  and  also  that  you  will  henceforward  think  and 
act  like  other  young  women  of  your  age  and  station,  and  not 
reject  eligible  offers  because  '  this  man  is  too  tall  ;'  that  '  too 
short ;'  one  "  too  fair ;'  another  '  too  dark ;'  sombody  else  be- 
cause he  doesn't  sing  ;  and  somebody  else  because  he  sings  too 
much  :  your  father  can  give  you  no  money,  and  you  are  no  lon- 
ger a  mere  child  ;  I  would  advise  you,  as  your  sincere  friend, 
as  well  as  your  affectionatie  mother,  to  consider  your  position 
well,  and  if  Mr.  McAlpine  remain  favourably  disposed  towards 
you,  to  accept  his  attentions;  it  will  be  much  better  than  riding 
about,  talking  nonsense  to  Lord  Warringdon,  who  will  be  off, 
to-morrow  or  next  day,  and  if  he  happen  to  see  you  again, 
scarce  remember  you,  perhaps." 

Isabel  coloured  deeply,  partly  from  confusion,  and  partly  from 
indignation  at  her  mother's  supposition,  but  she  remained  silent. 

"  Do,  my  sweet  Isabel,  do  as  I  wish  you,"  continued  Lady 
Anne,  kissing  her  cheek ;  "  you  never  will  repent  having  fol- 
lowed my  advice." 

She  then  quitted  Isabel,  who  did  not  return  for  some  time  to 
the  sitting  room.  That  she  had  not  passed  the  interval  in  very 
agreeable  meditations  might  be  inferred  from  a  slight  redness 
about  her  eyes,  and  a  languor  and  dejection  of  manner,  that 


CANVASSING.  43 

Struck  and  interested  Lord  Warringdon.  He  thought  she  had 
never  looked  so  well ;  he  told  her  so,  and  her  pale  cheek  glowed, 
and  she  looked  away  for  a  moment,  and  when  their  eyes  met 
again,  hers  were  filled  with  tears. 

"Lord  Warringdon,"  said  Mr.  Wilmot,  "before  McAlpine 
comes,  I  must  tell  you  what  sort  of  person  you  are  about  to 
see.  First,  as  the  most  important  point,  what  he  has, — then 
what  he  is:  he  has  ten  thousand  a  year,  unencumbered  ;  that, 
you  will  say,  concerns  Maria  and  Isabel  more  than  you, — but, 
however,  this  concerns  you, — he  has  the  next  best  interest  to 
mine  in  the  county  ; — in  politics  he  is  a  staunch  tory,  and  so 
he  is  likely  to  remain,  for  he  has  not  yet  half  provided  for  his 
poor  relations."  (N.  B.  This  was  in  the  good,  the  halcyon 
days  of  toryism  in  Ireland,  when  the  favorite  candidate  was 
sure  to  be  the  one  who  would  bestow,  or  promise,  at  least,  the 
greatest  number  of  places.)  Mr.  Wilmot  proceeded:  "Mr. 
McAlpine  and  I  are  excellent  friends  ;  that's  to  say,  we  don't 
either  of  us  care  if  the  other  broke  his  neck." 

•'^lydear!  my  dear!"  interrupted  Lady  Anne,  "  hew  can 
you  talk  so  carelessly?  Lord  Warringdon  will  really  believe 
you  are  serious;  very  extraordinar)'  under  our  peculiar  circum- 
stances ;"  looking  over  at  Isabel,  "you  should  not,  indeed,  my 
love,  say  such  things  ;  really  it  is  quite  shocking."  She  said 
this  in  a  hurried,  deprecating  tone,  and  then,  resuming  her  usual 
manner, — "recollect  the  liberal  support  he  has  always  afforded 
you,  without  stipulations  of  any  kind,  for  a  single  friend." 

"  Oh,  I  recollect  perfectly,"  replied  her  husband,  laughing; 
"  he  monopolizes  all  rny  interest  on  the  plea  that  he  had  not 
bargained,  like  others, before-hand.  By  Jove  !  his  support  was 
like  the  barbarian  allies  of  the  Roman  empire,  a  service  that 
cost  dearer  than  his  enmity." 

Lady  Anne  fidgeted  about  while  he  was  speaking,  and  seemed 
exceedingly  annoyed,  but  why  he  could  not  well  compreliend^  not 
being  aware  that  Mr.  McAlpine's  failings  were  a  forbidden 
subject  at  Wilmot  castle,  so  he  continued  : — "Though  my 
friend,  McAlpine,  is  the  soul  of  honour,  lake  care  that  you  have 

witnesses  to  your  conversation,  or no  matter  what,'*  he 

added,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  only  if  you  have  not  a  friend  pre- 
sent, you  may  have  to  employ  one  on  less  amiable  business  some 
future  day,  as  I  was  once  obliged  to  do;  and  my  friend  McAl- 
pine then  immediately  remembered  all  he  had  forgotten.  Pistols 
are  wonderful  helps  to  a  treacherous  memory." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  your  father'?"  exclaimed 
Lady  Anne,  addressing  her  eldest  daughter,  "  to  talk  in  such  a 
way  of  McAlpine  before  Isabel — highly  impr  oper." 


44  CANVASSING. 

"  What's  improper  1"  inquired  Mr.  Wilmot. 

Lady  Anne  remained  silent,  shaking  her  pretty  little  foot  in 
assumed  displeasure. 

"  What's  improper,  Anne,  my  love  ]"  inquired  he  once  more. 

*' Your  abuse  of  Mr.  McAlpine,  my  dear." 

"  My  abuse  !  I  am  not  abusing  the  man  at  all.  I  don't  care 
about  him  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  Yes  !  but  that  is  the  very  thing  I  complain  of, — you  ought 
to  care." 

"Why,  my  lovel" 

"  My  dear  Wilmot,"  rejoined  Lady  Anne,  "  you  must  forget, 
surely." 

"I  can't  imagine,"  said  he  to  himself,  "what  the  devil  she 
is  at." 

The  rapid  approach  of  horsemen  up  the  ascent  to  the  castle 
turned  the  conversation.  A  i'ew  minutes  afterwards,  Mr.  McAl- 
pine made  his  appearance  arnid  the  group. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,"  said  Lady  Anne,  in  her  softest  tone 
of  welcome. 

"How  dy'e  do,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Wilmot,  "glad  to 
see  you  ;" — and  Mr.  Wilmot  was  glad  to  see  him,  because  it 
happened  to  be  in  his  own  house,  and  there  his  greatest  enemy 
would  no  longer  be  treated,  or  even  considered  as  such.  We 
shall  take  advantage  of  the  half  hour  before  dinner  to  give  a 
sketch  of  the  morale  and  physique  of  Mr.  McAlpine,  of  McAl- 
pine Castle. 

To  begin  with  his  outward  man,  that  being  the  most  impor- 
tant division  of  the  two-fold  nature  of  a  young  male  acquaint- 
ance. Mr.  McAlpine  was  considered  by  all  who  had  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  him,  (except  himself,)  as  a  specially  ill-looking 
person.  'Tis  fair  to  state,  however,  what  really  was  his  appear- 
ance, in  order  that  our  readers  may  judge  whether  he  or  his 
acquaintances  were  right.  He  was  very  tall,  and  very  thin, 
with  a  very  short  body  and  very  long  limbs,  that  were  always 
straying  about  to  all  points  of  the  compass,  as  if  each  was  set- 
ting forward,  by  itself,  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  through  the 
world;  his  hair  was  very  red,  his  eyes  very  white,  his  teeth  very 
yellow,  his  mouth  very  wide,  and  his  nose  very  broad;  so  far 
for  his  person.  With  respect  to  his  mind.  Nature  had  dealt  a 
little  more  favourably  with  him.  Originally  he  had  not  been 
quite  deficient  in  intellect;  but,  unfortunately,  his  early  educa- 
tion had  been  neglected  ;  in  fact  Mr.  McAlpine  arrived  at  years 
of  discretion  before  he  became  heir-at-law  to  his  present  estate, 
seren  or  eight  good  people  having  been  in  the  entail  upon  it: 


CANVASSING.  45 

gradually,  however  they  died  without  "issue  in  tail  male;" 
and  when  he  succeeded  to  the  property,  he  could  barely  read 
and  write.     He  had  sufficient  good  sense,  however,  to  feel  his 
deficiencies,  and  gave  a  still  rarer  proof  of  understanding  by 
endeavouring  to  remedy  them  ;  he  bought  good  books,  and  read 
and  profited  by  them,  and  thus  efl^ected  wonders  ;  but,  unluckily, 
he  imagined,  comparing  himself  with  himself,  that  as  he  now 
knew  much  more  than  he  formerly  had  done,  he  actually  knew 
more  than  any  one  had  ever  known  before  him.     Eventually  he 
decided  in  his  own  mind  that  nothing  could  equal  him  in  know- 
ledge or  beauty,  and  consequently  put  a  high  price  on  himself  "in 
Ihemarrying  way  ;"  and  though  he  was  always  talking  of  taking 
a  wife,  never  could  be  induced  to  decide,  lest  he  might,  as  he  said, 
"  throw  himself  away,"  While  he  was  thus  deliberating,  Isabel 
Wilmot  returned  from  the  Continent,  the  theme  of  universal  ad- 
miration.    He  soon  came  to  the  solemn  determination  "  that  she 
was  just  the  person  worthy  of  becoming  Mrs.  McAlpine."  He 
did  not,  however,  say  too  much  in  commendation  of  her,  lest  he 
should  raise  the  market  on  himself;  only  pronouncing  her  to 
be  "  a  nice  girl,  certainly,  and  if  married  to  a  man  she  loved, 
one  that  would  turn  out  a  charming  woman  ;  but  all  depended 
on  that;  at  present  she  thinks  too  much  of  herself  a  great  c?a/e." 
Occasionally    Mr.   McAlpine's    pronunciation    was    somewhat 
broad,  and  formed  a  curious  and  amusingcontrast  with  his  high 
flown  style  and  sentimentality.     "She  wants  animation,"  (we 
mark   thus  a  peculiar  drawling  emphasis  in  Mr.  McAlpine's 
articulation,)  "  because  as  yet  she  is  indifferent  about  plasing, 
but  once  let  her  love  a  man  of  a  certain  order  of  mind,  and  she 
will  be  absolutely  seraphic — she's  clever,  and  accomplished,  and 
beautiful  ;  but  she's  not,  as  yet,  interesting,  because,  as  yet,  she 
has  not  loved."     So,  to  give  the  finishing  touch  to  Isabel's  per- 
fections, he  did  all  in  his  power  to  inspire  her  with  a  passion; 
but  the  young  lady,  some  way,  was  deficient  in  taste  as  well  as 
gratitude,  and  by  no  means  seconded  Mr.  McAlpine's  benevolent 
views  for  her  improvement. 

Maria  thoi^ght  it  a  thou^nd  pities  that  the  owner  of  McAl- 
pine Castle  should  be  lost  lc^4he  family,  so  she  laughed,  and 
talked,  and  laboured,  might  and  main,  to  get  into  Tiis  good 
graces, — all  to  no  purpose  ;  a  pleasant,  lively,  off-hand  girl, 
was  his  detestation.  Take  notice,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  was  all  ro- 
mance and  refinement.  "  Maria  Wilmot  has  no  softness,  no 
sentiment,  no  manner;  besides,  I  must  have,  he  would  sometimes 
say,  grinning,  and  displaying  his  terrific  set  of  teeth,  besides  I 
MUST  have  a  fine  woman — that  is  an  indispensable  necessary  of  life 


46  CANVASSING. 

to  rae  ;  beauty  is  the  aliment  of  my  existence.  No — if  I  take 
either,  it  shall  be  Isabel.  I  fix  on  her."  But  though  he  fixed 
upon  Isabel,  Isabel  did  not  fix  upon  him;  he  continued,  how- 
ever, to  call  her  stiffness,  reserve,  and  her  coldness,  modesty; 
never  for  an  instant  suspected  they  could  be  anything  else, 
where  he  was  in  question. 

Lady  Anne  had  not  quite  yet  decided  whether  she  should 
make  her  younger  daughter  marry  him,  or  make  him  marry  her 
elder,  when  the  arrival  of  Lord  Warringdon  caused  her  to  change 
the  whole  plan  of  operations.  She  now  courted  him  upon 
the  principle  that  we  offer  a  plate  of  meat  to  one  lap-dog,  in- 
tended for  another — by  the  way,  this  neat  and  appropriate  si- 
mile reminds  us  that  it  is  time  to  return  to  our  family  party, 
whom  we  left  counting  the  minutes  until  dinner  should  be  an- 
nounced. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

All  are  now  seated  at  dinner.  Lord  Warringdon's  thoughts 
and  attentions  (we  will  not  say  his  affections,  because,  like  lady 
Anne,  we  are  not  quite  sure  he  has  any)  are  divided  between  a 
plate  of  salmon,  just  out  of  the  water,  and  the  pretty  downcast 
eyes  of  his  fair  and  flirting  equestrian  companion,  Isabel.  But 
when  we  state  that  his  attentions  were  thus  divided,  we  do  not 
take  upon  ourselves  to  assert  that  the  division  was  perfectly 
equal,  it  might  be,  perhaps,  somewhat  like  an  Irish  halving  of 
a  thing — one  half  a  little  bigger  than  the  other  ;  perhaps,  also, 
the  bigger  one  might  not  have  fallen  to  the  lady's  share.  Un- 
der the  circumstances  of  the  case,  however,  she  might  consider 
herself  peculiarly  fortunate  in  having  any  portion  at  all  ;  for  a 
man  of  modern  times,  who  thinks  of  the  lady  of  his  love,  when 
he  has  anything  else  to  think  of,  particularly  so  good  a  thing  as 
salmon  in  season,  gives  a  proof  of  the  depth  and  intensity  of 
his  passion,  equal  to  that  which  blowing  out  his  brains  would 
have  been  some  forty  years  ago.  Isabel,  however,  had  been 
placed  by  her  mother  in  precisely  the  position  best  calculated 
to  ensure  as  much  worship  as  was  possible,  to  be,  namely, 
just  opposite  the  viscount;  so  that  whenever.his  eyes  were  off 
his  plate,  they  naturally  fell  on  his  vis  a  vis.  And,  what  we 
look  at,  Lady  Anne  knew,  we  think  of;    and   indeed    Lord 


CANVASSING.  47 

Warringdon  was  obliging  enough  not  only  to  thiiik  of  Isabel, 
but  to  think  of  her  all  that  lady  Anne  was  anxious  he  should 
think,  viz.,  that  "  she  was  a  very  lovely  girl,  that  she  seemed 
to  be  very  much  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  him,  and  that  it 
was  a  great  pity  to  give  so  much  beauty  and  taste  to  such  a 
stupid  ugly  fellow  as  McAlpine  ;"  said  ugly  fellow  being  at 
the  moment  whispering  with  his  mouth  full,  sundry  soft  things 
to  his  fair,  but  listless  neighbour,  and,  in  the  earnestness  ofbis 
discourse,  leaning  across  her  plate,  and  staring  full  in  her 
face,  with  his  large  white  eyes,  which  he  rolled  about  in  the 
most  approved  style  of  loverism.  Isabel  would  have  pawned  a 
joint  of  her  pretty  taper  finger  to  have  dared  turn  her  back  on 
him,  or  to  slap  his  face;  and  in  her  struggles  to  conceal  her 
disgust,  for  she  knew  that  her  mother's  eye  was^fixed  on  her, 
she  became  silent  and  constrained.  Now,  any  other  man  but 
McAlpine  would  have  been  hereupon  offended — he,  on  the  con- 
trary was  charmed,  for  he  interpreted  the  care  with  which  she 
avoided  his  soft  glances,  or  interrupted  his  compliments,  as  un- 
deniable proofs  of  a  tender  and  absorbing  passion,  which,  from 
maidenly  reserve,  she  laboured  to  conceal. 

"Why  did  you  not  wait  for  the  gentleman  you  speak  ofl" 
she  asked,  eagerly  seizing  on  an  observation  just  made,  to  turn 
his  attention  from  her  beauty  and  his  own  admiration. 

"  Because,"  answered  he,  "  Mr.  Barham  was  not  quite  rea- 
dy to  accompany  me — and  I  could  not  wait;  for,"  lowering  his 
voice  into  a  whisper,  soft  and  tender  as  that  of  the  boy-god 
himself,  he  added,  "I  was  languishing  for  a  bame  (beam)  from 
the  sun  of  my  soul,  fair  Isabel's  bright  eyes — for  what  is  ex- 
istence to  me  when  absent  from  her,  the  source  of  light,  and  life, 
and  hope !" 

'*  But  don't  you  think  he  may  be  offended  1"  inquired  Isabel, 
not  appearing  to  notice  his  twaddle. 

*'  I  explained  to  him  that  I  had  important  avocations  at  McAl- 
pine Castle,  which  would  prevent  my  having  the  pleasure  of 
accompanying  him  there.  I  have  been  expecting  him  these 
three  days  past,  and  am  half  surprised  I  did  not  meet  him  here, 
spell-bound  by  the  fascinations  of  the  captivating  enchantress 
ofWilmot  Castle — the  fair  Isabelle — that  cruel  but  charming 
creature — whose  gaze  is  death — who  lures  but  to  destroy." — 

A  loud  knocking  at  the  hall-door,  interrupted  Mr.  Mc  Al- 
pine's speech — and  caused  such  a  sensation,  among  the  whole 
party,  as  would  scarcely  be  credited,  except  by  those  who 
know  by  experience  what  can  be  effected  by  the  most  trifling 


48  CANVASSING. 

occurrence  which  promises  to  break  up  the  usual  routine  of  a 
country-house  life.  While  every  one  was  wondering  who  it 
could  be,  and  each  sat  with  his  or  her  knife  or  fork  arrested, 
as  if  by  a  spell,  in  his  or  her  hand  ;  while  all  ears  were  eagerly 
bent  to  catch  the  glory  due  to  first  discoverers;  and  while  all 
eyes  were  riveted,  as  if  they  possessed  the  properly  of  lynx 
vision,  and  would  pierce  the  very  walls;  the  door  was  softly 
opened,  and  father  John  Molloy  stole  on  tip-toe,  into  the  room. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  'tis  only  you,  father  John  !"  exclaimed 
Maria.  "  I  thought  it  was  some  prince  in  disguise,  come  to 
crave  hospitality,  and  who,  in  return  for  a  dinner  and  a  bed, 
would  fall  in  love  with  me — but  never  mind,  sit  down,  father 
John — here  by  me,  and  tell  us  some  news." 

*'  1  beg  your  pardon,  Miss,  for  a  minute,  I  have  something  to 
say  to  your  p'apa ;"  and  so  saying,  he  crept  round  the  table  to 
Mr.  Wilmot,  and  made  some  observation  in  a  low  voice,  to 
which  the  other  replied  : 

"  Certainly — beg  of  him  by  all  means  to  walk  in — why  did 
you  not  bring  him  in  at  once,  father  John  1" 

"I  was  delicate  of  taking  a  liberty,  Mr.  Wilmot,  Sir,"  re- 
plied he,  looking  at  lady  Anne,  from  whose  mind  he  desired  to 
efface,  by  his  present  respectful  demeanour,  the  somewhat  un- 
favourable impression  made  by  his  brother's  conduct  in  the  best 
room. 

**  I'll  go  myself;"  said  Wilmot,  starting  up,  he  suddenly 
stopped  short,  however,  and  whispered  to  the  priest,  ^'  you  are 
sure  he  isn't  one  of  those  fellows  with  papers  ]" 

"Ah,  not  at  all,  sir — he's  a  gentleman  from  England — an 
elegant  fellow  as  ever  I'd  wish  to  see,  and  mighty  agreeable.'* 

"Who  are  you  talking  about  T"  inquired  Maria,  pricking  up 
her  ears,  at  the  words  "  gentleman  from  England — elegant  fel- 
low, &c." 

Lady  Anne's  sense  of  hearing,  equally  acute  as  that  of  her 
daughter's,  was  roused  by  the  same  gratifying  sounds,  and  * 
inquired  with  pleasing  alacrity — 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  love]  Is  there  any  one  coming, 
Mr.  Molloy?" 

Both  the  persons  addressed  had,  however,  disappeared  before 
her  question  had  reached  their  ears.  Meantime,  the  party,  with 
the  exception  of  Lady  Anne  and  Maria,  proceeded  in  their 
agreeable  occupations,  and  waited  patiently  until  time  should 
unravel  the  mystery,  if  mystery  there  were.  But  Miss  Wilmot 
and  her  mother  sat  on  thorns,  during  the  few  seconds  of  Mr. 
W^ilmot's  absence;  and  their  satisfaction  maybe  imagined,  but 


CANVASSING.  49 

certainly  not  described,  at  seeing  him  return,  accompanied  by 
a  fair,  and  rather  good-looking-  and  gentlemanlike  young  man. 

"This  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Wilmot,  ushering  him  in,  "was 
found  by  father  John,  upset  by  a  drunken  driver,  about  tea 
miles  off — the  man  had  quite  lost  his  way — so  Mr.  Molloy 
very  properly  became  his  guide  and  conducted  iiim  here.  Lady 
Anne,  and  my  daughters,  as  well  as  myself,  will  do  all  in  our 
power,"  he  added,  smiling,  "to  induce  you  to  forgive  our  bad 
roads  and  worse  drivers." 

^  During  the  progress  of  this  speech,  bows  and  smiles  on  both 
sides  had  been  exchanged,  and  the  traveller  had  accepted  the 
proffered  seat  near  Maria. 

"  God  bless  me  !  can  that  be  you,  Mr.  Barham  1"  exclaimed 
Mr.  McAlpine,  "  I  had  not  the  laste  idea  it  was  you — how  d'ye 
do?  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you  at  last— Wilmot,  this  is  the 
gentleman  1  told  you  1  had  been  expecting." 

"Really — who  could  have  thought  it  ?  is  it  possible?  how- 
very  odd  V  &c.,  &c.,  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  as  is  usual  on 
such  occasions  as  the  present. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  much  fatigued  ;"  observed  lady 
Anne,  in  the  soft  accents  habitual  to  her  when  addressincr  the 
young  of  the  other  sex. 

"  Oh  no  !  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  not  in  the  least;"  re- 
plied Mr.  Barham,  "quite  delighted,  I  assure  you-— I  think  it 
capital  fun,  being  overturned  in  a  bog-hole — I  like  it  of  all 
things — 'tis  quite  an  adventure,  you  know,  and  so  Irish,  like 
what  one  sees  in  a  play,  you  know — never  would  happen  one 
in  England,  if  one  was  travelling  for  ever." 

"Then  you  have  never  been  in  Ireland  before,  I  suppose  ?" 
observed  Maria. 

"  Never  ;  and  I'm  so  glad  I've  come  !" 
"  You  like  it  then  ? 

"Oh  yes,  of  all  things — never  laughed  so  much  in  all  my 
life  as  since  I  have  been  in  Ireland.  To-day,  I  thought  I  should 
have  died  I  laughed  so,  when  I  was  thrown  out  of  The  carriage 
—it  was  capital !  there  was  the  driver  in  such  a  fright,  you 
know,  for  fear  I  was  killed,  and  when  he  found  I  wasn't  a  bit 
hurt,  he  got  afraid  I'd  complain  of  him  to  his  master;  and 
began  cursing  his  horses,  and  swearing  'twas  their  fault,  and 
not  his ;  and  then  he  tried  to  get  me  up,  and  couldn't,  he  was  so 
drunk— then  he  fell  over  me,  and  neither  of  us  could  stir,I  was 
laughing  so,  and  he  was  so  drunk ;  and  there  we  should'  have 
lam  all  night  I  suppose,  only  your  friend  Mr.  Molly  was  kind 
enough  to  bring  me  here. 

5 


50  CANVASSING. 

"Very  liappy  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,"  re- 
plied Maria,  in  her  usual  good-natured  tone — "  He  seems  a  sad 
fool,  poor  young  man,"  thought  she.  "  I  wonder,  is  ho  rich  V 
Her  thoughts  upon  this  point  were,  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
most  satisfactorily  terminated  by  a  scrap  of  dialogue  she  over- 
heard between  him  and  the  Viscount. 

"  Pray,  may  I  ask,"  said  Lord  Warringdon,  "are  you  one  of 
the  Barhams  of  Leicestershire  T" 

"To  be  sure  I  am  ;  Barham  of  Cralcourt,  myself:  you  know 
the  Cralcourt  hounds  ?" 

"Famous  all  over  England,"  rejoined  Lord  Warringdon. 
"  So,  you  are  Barham  of  Cralcourt ;  your  father  used  to  be 
greatly  on  the  turf.     Has  he  many  horses  running  now  V 

"  No,  I  don't  think  he  has,"  returned  the  other,  laughing, 
"  unless  he  has  found  some  in  Heaven — he  has  been  dead  these 
two  years." 

"  Happy  fellow,"  observed  Lord  Warringdon,  "  your  own 
roaster — '  the  world  before  you  where  to  choose'  like  our  first 
parents." 

"  Not  my  own  master  yet — I'm  not  to  be  of  age  for  a  year- 
and-a-half,  you  know;  and  I  have  got  such  a  tiresome  old  fellow 
for  a  guardian  ;  keeps  me  so  tight,  you  can't  think;  Sir  Wil- 
loughby  Turner  of  Mandeville  Park ;  lives  near  Melton,  you 
know  ;  I  can't  bear  him — he  has  got  three  such  ugly  daughters, 
you  can't  think." 

Maria,  who  had  edged  her  chair  close  to  Mr.  Barham's,  on 
the  discovery  that  he  was  a  rich  minor  (the  Cralcourt  estate 
was  eighteen  thousand  per  annum),  here  joined  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  laughing,  "  that  your  guardian's 
having  three  ugly  daughters  is  the  original  cause,  or  only  an 
additional  one,  for  not  liking  him  1  Poor  man ;  you  should 
pity,  rather  than  dislike  him  for  that." 

"  Well,  so  I  do  ;  I  pity  him  very  much,  I'm  sure;  and  them, 
too,  poor  girls  ;  for  I'm  sure  they  will  never  get  married — unless 
Sir  Willoughby  gets  people  to  marry  'em,  the  way  he  wanted 
me ;  but  there  was  no  reason  I  should,  when  I  didn't  like  it, 
was  there  T" 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Maria,  as  frankly  as  if  she  was  in  no 
way  concerned,  in  a  question  which  touched  ugly  girls,  who 
wanted  to  find  husbands.  But,  indeed,  never,  on  similar  occa- 
sions, did  she  betray  anything  like  esprit  de  corps,-  she  could 
laugh  as  heartily  at  a  jest  against  plain  women,  or  husband- 
hunting  ones,  as  if  she  were  a  beauty,  and  had  refused  half  her 


CANVASSING.  51 

male  acquaintances.  Who,  then,  could  suspect  the  plain,  but 
good-humoured,  laughing,  Maria  Wilmot,  of  being  dangerous 
or  designing  1  Certainly  not  Mr.  Barhamof  Cralcourt,  whom, 
from  this  hour,  she  marked  as  her  victim.  Encouraged  by  her 
approbation  of  the  exertion  of  free-will  he  had  evinced,  with 
respect  to  marrying  either  of  the  Miss  Turners,  he  proceeded 
with  his  confidential  communications  thus; 

"  So  when  I  found  he  wanted  me  to  marry  Ellen  Turner, 
whether  I  would  or  no — I  cut  and  ran." 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  observed  Maria,  "  I  like  to  see 
young  men  have  proper  spirit." 

"1  told  him,  you  know,  I  was  going  to  Paris  ;  and  he  began 
to  give  me  such  a  lot  of  advice  about  rouge  et  noir,  and  to  keep 
out  of  mischief,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  so  I  promised  I 
would  ;  and  he  asked  me  how  long  I  should  stay,  and  I  said 
about  three  months  ;  so  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  surprised  if 
they  were  all  by  this  time  in  Paris,  after  me;  and  wondering 
why  they  can't  find  me." 

'*  So  you  did  not  go  to  Paris,  after  allV 

■"Lord  bless  you,  no;  I  guessed  they  would  be  after  me,  so 
I  came  here;  they  will  be  so  surprised  when  they  hear  Em  in 
Ireland  ;  don't  you  think  they  willl" 

*'  Capital  !"  exclaimed  Maria,  laughing,  (she  could  laugh,  as 
other  women  cry  or  faint,  whenever  she  chose) — "  Capital ;  I 
give  you  credit  for  that  idea." 

*'  But  the  best  of  it  is,  they  can't  hear  a  word  of  it,  for  a  long 
wOiile,  for  nobody  knows  where  I  am  gone,  I  kept  it  such  a 
secret !  I  did  not  even  bring  a  servant  with  me,  for  fear  he 
might  tell — ^just  for  a  lark,  you  know.  I  was  determined  to 
have  some  fun  by  myself  at  least — wasn't  I  right  T" 

Maria  here  burst  into  one  of  her  best  fits  of  laughing,  partly 
natural,  partly  affected,  to  please  Mr.  Barbara's  un-aristocratic 
laughter-loving  propensities. 

*'  What  are  you  laughing  atl  do  tell  me,  Miss  Wilmot," 
laughing  already  himself,  from  sympathy. 

'•Why,  I  was  thinking,  Mr.  Barham,  that  your  friends  will 
be  sure  to  look  fur  you,  every  day,  at  the  Morgue  /" 

"The  Morgue  P''  repeated  he,  nearly  screaming  with  delight 
— "  Oh  !  so  they  will,  Em  positive  ! — 1  never  thought  of  that — 
how  good  !  Oh  !  what  capital  fun  !" — and  he  almost  fell  off  his 
chair  in  a  convulsion  of  glee,  at  Maria's  happy  idea.  "  Oh, 
Miss  Wilmot,  you  will  kill  me,"  continued  he,  when  sufficiently 
recovered  from  his  transport  to  articulate  intelligibly — "  Hang 
roe  if  1  have  done  anything   but  laugh,  laugh,  ever  since  I  ar- 


52  CANVASSING. 

rived  in  Ireland  !  I  never  saw  such  a  place  for  fun  in  my  life. 
I  wonder  Irish  people  ever  leave  Ireland  ;  they  never  can  laugh 
half  so  much  any  where  else.  I  should  like  so  to  be  an  Irisli- 
man  !  Oh  !  Miss  Wilmot,  Mr.  Molly  told  me  such  a  droll  story, 
coming  along,  about  somebody  playing  him  a  trick  at  a  funeral ; 
I  don't  exactly  recollect  what  it  was,  though.  I  wish  you  would 
ask  him  to  tell  it  over  again,  will  you  ?  °  I  should  be  so  much 
obliged  to  you." 

Maria  was  very  well  disposed  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  so 
faithful  an  ally  as  Father  John,  to  aid  her  virtuous  exertions  in 
the  task  of  entertaining  their  new  guest. 

"  Father  John,  I  want  you — here's  a  petitioner  for  one  of  your 
good  stories." 

*'  What  good  story,  Miss  Maria?"  inquired  Father  John, 
quite  surprised  to  find  he  was  considered.a  teller  of  good  stories. 

"  Oh  !  the  one  about  the  funeral,  Pilr.  Molloy,  if  you  please," 
said  Mr.  Barham. 

"The  one  about  the  funeral,"  repeated  Father  John,  slowly 
and  musingly  ;  "  upon  my  word  and  credit,  Mr.  Barham,  it  fails 
me  to  remember  what  story  yon  mane  about  a  funeral.  Can't 
you  recollect  some  of  the  perticklars "?" 

"  Somebody  you  thought  was  dying,  and  who  was  not." 

"  Oh  !  1  remember  now — Dan  Murphy — But  that's  no  story 
at  all,  Mr.  Barham,  but  the  blessed  truth,  I'm  sorry  to  say ;  not 
but  that  I  laugh  sometimes  myself,  when  I  think  how  I  was 
nicked  out  of  my  corpse  ;"  and  the  good-humoured  priest  again 
laughed  heartily  at  the  recollection. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  so  good,  Mr.  Molloy ;  pray  tell  it  again,  will 
you?" 

Lord  Warringdon  here  joined  the  group,  and  added  his  solici- 
tations to  those  of  Mr.  Barham,  for  the  "funny  corpse-story," 
though  not,  by  many  degrees,  so  great  an  amateur  of  fun  as  his 
Leicestershire  compatriot.  Lord  Warringdon  had  sufficiently 
benefited  by  Irish  air  to  be  able  to  listen,  with  tolerable  satis- 
faction, to  an  Irish  anecdote  ;  besides,  he  was  canvassing  the 
county,  and,  of  course,  the  priests. 

"  Pray,  my  dear  sir,  oblige  us,"  he  said. 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  my  lord.  Most  happy  to  con- 
tribute to  your  entertainment,  gentlemen.  But,  upon  ray  word, 
I'm  afraid  you'll  be  mighty  disappointed,  if  you  expect  any 
great  amusement,  for  'lis  nothing  but  just  what  happened  to  my- 
self and  Father  Costelloe  :  that's  my  shuperior  in  the  parish, 
the  parish  priest,  you  know." 


CANVASSING.  53 

"I  thought,"  interrupted  Mr.  Barham,  "  you  were  the  parish 
■priest,  yourself." 

"  I  wish  to  the  Lord  I  was,"  rejoined  Mr.  MoUoy :  "  no,  God 
"help  me  !  I'm  only  the  coadjator, — the  curate  you  know,"  ob- 
serving- that  his  English  auditors  did  not  understand  the  term. 
"  Well,  myself,  and  Father  Costelloe,  and  Mrs.  Priest, — that's 
the  priest's  niece-in-law,  married  to  one  Costelloe,  that  keeps 
a  public  house  hard  by  Father  Costelloe's,— we  call  her  Mrs. 
Priest  because  there  are  so  many  Costelloes  in  the  place,  we'd 
never  know  which  was  which,  if  we  did  not  call  her  by  some 
name  that  wasn't  her  own;  well,  they  and  I  were  talking  of 
one  thing  or  other,  one  night,  over  our  punch,  when,  all  of  a 
sudden,  there  comes  the  sorrows  of  a  sassarara  at  the  door;  the 
Lord  save  us,  says  I  ;  who  have  we  got  here  1  '  Who  has  the 
assurance  and  impertinence  to  come  to  my  door  at  this  unseeso- 
nable  hour  of  the  night  T  cries  Father  Costelloe,  spaking  in  his 
fine  English  manner.  (Take  care,  God  bless  you.  Miss  Maria, 
and  don't  tell  him  I  say  so).  '  For  one  farthing,'  says  he,  'I'd 
keen  the  fellow,  (cane,  he  meant)  '  whoever  he  is,  for  his  impu- 
dence.' I  forgot  to  say  it  was  Shrove-Tuesday,  of  all  the  days 
in  the  year.  How  do  you  know,  Mr.  Costelloe  V  says  I ;  {he 
thinks  it  grand  to  be  called  Mr.)  how  do  you  know  says  I,  but 
it  might  be  a  crature  coming  to  get  married,  smart  out  of  hand, 
afore  lent.  '  Mr.  Molloy,'  says  he,  drawing  hinriself  up  the  w^ay 
he  does  when  he  wants  to  be  mighty  grand  entirely  (you  know, 
MissJMarial) ;  *  I  would  not  choose,  for  the  best  wedding  in  my 
parish,  nor  the  best  funeral,  either,  to  be  disturbed  at  my  re- 
pasts.' How  comical  you  are,  thinks  I  :  any  way,  it  wouldn't 
be  you  that  would  get  the  ra'al  disturbance,  God  help  me! 
there  isn't  a  man  in  the  parish,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  turning 
to  his  auditors,  -'that  earns  his  victuals  harder  than  myself; — 
rain,  snow,  or  hail,  at  cock  crow,  or  pitch  dark,  away  I  am, 
tramping  the  bogs  and  mountains,  while  other  people,  that  gets 
the  two  shares  and  more  of  the  dues,  are  lying  snug  in  their 
beds,  or  sitting  over  their  warm  fire  and  comfortable  tumbler. 
But,  what  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,— no  use  fretting; 
grief  killed  the  eat^  we're  told,  so,  Fll  finish  my  story.  May 
be,  says  I,  it  might  be  a  crature  that  isn't  expecfed.^^ 

"  Somebody  drying,"  said  Maria  to  the  gentlemen,  "  not  ex- 
pected to  live,'''' 

"Do  you  think,  says  he,  I  would  suffer  myself  to  be  disturb- 
ed, at  this  hour,  by  the  best  corpse  in  my  parish  1  Well,  in  the 
middle  of  this,  in  walks  ]\Irs.  Priest :  I  forgot  to  say,  she  had 
slipped  out  of  the  room,  half  an  hour  before,  but  I  never  per- 


54  CaKVAssing. 

ceived  it,  *  Guess  the  news,  gentlemen,'  says  she,  seeming 
mighty  plased.  *  My  grandmother !  says  I.'  '  No,  ra'al  good 
news,'  says  she  ;  'Dan  Murphy  won't  pass  the  night.'  '  Don't 
bother  us,'  says  I ;  'sure  he's  always  dying,  and  a  sorrow  a 
one  of  him  is  dead  yet, — God  forgive  me  for  cursing,'  says  I. 
'  Well,  he's  dying  now  in  ra'al  earnest.'  '  How  do  you  know  V 
says  I.  '  Wasn't  his  son  here,  a  minute  ago,  tearing  the  house 
down,  like  mad  ]'  '  And  where  is  he  now  ]'  says  I ;  '  till  I  spake 
to  him.' — 'You  can't  spake  to  him  now,'  says  she,  'for  he's 
gone  up  to  the  castle,  to  spake  to  Pat  Murphy,  his  cousin,  to 
tell  him  all  about  it,  that  he  may  be  ready  to  attend  the  funeral, 
and  bring  what's  wanting,  you  know;'  looking  mighty  knowing 
at  me.  '  Arrah  !  no :  it's  joking,  you  are,  Mrs.  Priest,'  says  1 ; 
for  she's  always  at  her  thricks  and  schames,  making  fools  of 
Father  Costelloe  and  myself,  telling  us  this  one  is  going  to  be 
married,  and  that  one  expected,  so  I'm  always  on  ray  guard  with 
her;  but  this  turn  she  spoke  so  sarious,  and  looked  so  plazed,  I 
was  thricked  entirely,  and  made  sure  poor  Dan  was  dying  in 
earnest  at  last :  God  knows  'twas  time  for  him,  if  ever  he  in- 
tended it.  But  his  equal  for  toughness  I  never  seen:  he  has 
had  Mrs.  Finn,  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  the  doctor  at  the  dispensary 
at  him,  for  these  five  years  back,  and  even  they  couldn't  send 
him  off.  Not  an  Easlher  came,  but  we  expected  our  Easther 
dinner  of  him,— for  his  funeral  would  be  the  finest  in  the  parish, 
there's  such  a  dale  of  Murphys  in  it,  and  so  well  oflf  as  they  are ! 
the  snuggest  men  to  be  seen  in  the  province.  But  what  made 
me  give  in  to  the  joke,  entirely,  was  the  hurry  Father  Costolloe 
was  in  to  get  me  off, — he  wouldn't  give  me  time  to  finish  my 
tumbler,  or  chat  a  bit  with  Mrs.  Priest. 

"  Well,  it  was  pitch-dark,— raining  cats  and  dogs,  and  the 
wind  blowing  so,  you'd  think  'twas  ould  Nick  cooling  his  tay, 
— such  a  night  I  never  seen  for  hardship  and  contrariness, — my 
horse  and  myself  coming  down  every  minute.  Father  Costel- 
loe broke  the  crature's  knees  the  last  time  he  dined  here;  and 
'tisn't  the  first  horse  he  sarved  so,  and  no  wonder,  poor  man, 
he  grows  so-corpulent !  Well,  at  last  I  come  to  my  journey's 
end.  When  I  got  to  the  poor  man's  door,  I  put  on  a  mighty 
grave  face, — you'd  think  my  life  was  bound  up  in  poor  Pat 
Murphy's  :  not  but  I  was  ra'ally  sorry  for  the  crature,  now  that 
I  thought  he  was  dying  in  earnest,  and  that  all  would  be  soon 
over  wilh  him. 

"  I  fastened  my  horse  to  the  latch  of  the  door:  '  God  save  all 
here,'  says  I.  "  Cead  vdlle  fallha^'^  says  Kutty,  Dan's  wife, 
smiling,  and  looking  mighty  plased>     '  Them  women,' thinks 


CANVASSING.  55 

J  to  myself,  *are  the  dickens,  sure  enough !  see,  now,  how  well 
plased  Kutty  is,  and  her  husband,  who  was  always  a  good  one 
to  her,  going  from  her,  the  crature  !' — '  Is  he  sinsible,  Kutty,' 
says  I.  'Sinsible!  Father  John  ]  to  be  sure  he  is;  why 
wouldn't  he?  he's  not  bad  enough  for  that,  yet.'  Ah,  then, 
how  much  worse  would  you  have  him,  Kutty,'  says  I,  '  if  you 
wouldn't  have  him  dead  intirely  ; — can  he  spake,  Kutty  1'  says 
I.  'Ah,  then,  why  wouldn't  he  spake,  Father  John]'  says 
she.  Myself  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  her,  '  so,'  says  I, 
*  bring  me  to  him,  Kutty,  says  I,  and  then  I'll  see  myself  how 
he  is.'  '  God  bless  your  reverence,  'tis  you  that  are  fond  of 
him,  sure  enough,' says  she,  '  to  come  all  the  ways  this  blessed 
night  to  see  him  ;  FU  sind  for  him,  Father  John,'  says  she. 
'  Send  for  him  !'  says  I,  '  what  in  the  world  do  you  mane,  wo- 
man V  says  I.  *  Fll  send  for  him  to  Derrymanagoslogh,  I  mane. 
Father  John,'  says  she.  'It's  a  wonder  he  wouldn't  rather  die 
in  his  own  house,'  says  I.  'So  he  would,  if  it  was  dying  he 
was,'  says  she.  '  Why,  what  else  is  he  doing,  thenV  says  I. 
'  Smoking  and  drinking,  like  the  rest  of  the  company,  1  b'lieve,' 
says  she.  '  \Vhat  company  are  you  talking  of,  at  all,  woman'?' 
says  I.  '  Ah,  sure,  he's  gone  to  the  lower  parish,  beyant,  to  a 
dragging  home  of  a  daughther  of  a  first  cousin  of  his  sisther's 
husband,  that's  married  to  a  dacent  boy,  a  cousin  of  his  own.' 
'  Murder  alive!'  says  I  to  myself,  'and  ail  the  slavery  1  got 
driving  like  mad  through  the  bogs,  and  my  elegant  tumbler  of 
punch  left  cooling!'  Well,  1  thought  it  did  no  good  to  be  cross 
to  poor  Kutty,  because  her  husband  wasn't  dying  just  to  con- 
vanience  me  and  Father  Costelloe  ;  so  I  put  the  best  face  I 
could  upon  the  matter,  and  so  I  said  I  was  mighty  happy  to 
find  Dan  was  so  much  better,  and  off  I  set  home." 

"  Oh  !  just  tell  me,  before  you  go  any  farther,  what  you  mean 
by  a  dragging  home,"  interrupted  Mr.  Barham. 

"  A  dragging  home,  you  know,  is  the  same  as  a  hauling 
home,"  returned  Father  John. 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  know  what  that  means  either,"  replied  the 
young  Englishman. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  manes  : — a  dragging  home, 
or  hauling  home,  is  when  a  girl  of  one  parish  is  married  to  a 
boy  of  another,  and  that  'tis  too  far  for  the  young  man's  people 
to  come  to  go  to  the  wedding  ;  when  she  comes  home  to  her 
husband's  friends,  they  have  another  wedding,  equal  to  the  first, 
and  that's  what  they  call  a  dragging  home." 

"  Thank  you,  for  your  explanation,"  said  Lord  Warringdon, 
*'  and  now  let  u5  hear  the  sequel  of  your  amusing  adventure*" 


56  CANVASSING. 

"  You're  extremely  polite,  my  lord  ;  but,  indeed,  I'm  afraid 
I'm  tiring  you,  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  with  such  a  long 
rigmarole,  about  nothing  at  all." 

"  Oh,  no,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barham,  eagerly  ;  "  I'm  sure  every 
body  must  like  to  hear  it,  'tis  so  funny,  isn't  it.  Miss  Wilmot? 
Now  wouldn't  you  all  like  to  hear  the  rest  of  it]"  appealing  to 
the  company  at  large. 

Mr.  McAlpine  replied  to  the  question  by  a  look  of  the  most 
ineffable  contempt.  He  deemed  laughing  one  of  the  seven 
deadly  sins  against  Romanus  and  gentility,  his  two  favourite 
divinities  :  and,  as  he  never  felt  inclined  to  indulge  in  it  him- 
self, affirmed  that  no  one  who  had  either  head  or  heart  ever  did. 

"  What  a  soulless  creature  that  Barham  must  be  to  laugh  as 
he  does;  don't  you  think  so,  my  fair  enchantress,"  said  he, 
still  staring  and  looking  tender  at  his  victim,  poor  Isabel. 

"  It  is  very  happy  for  him  to  be  able  to  laugh,"  she  answered, 
half  crying  from  vexation. 

"Come,  come, — the  story,  the  story — you  like  it,  don't  you, 
Lady  Anne?"  cried  Barham. 

Lady  Anne,  from  politeness,  and  Mr.  Wilmot,  from  good-na- 
ture, always  seemed  to  enjoy  what  amused  others;  they  had, 
therefore,  listened  as  attentively  to  Father  John's  adventure  as 
if  they  had  not  heard  it  a  dozen  times  before;  and  now  placidly 
awaited  its  conclusion. 

Father  John  proceeded  thus  : — "  All  the  way  coming  back,  I 
was  thinking  how  I'd  be  even  with  Mrs.  Priest  for  the  thrick 
she  played  me.  The  next  morning,  before  I  got  up,  a  mes- 
sage from  her  to  me»  begging  me  to  come  and  have  a  collation 
after  mass,  with  herself  and  Father  Costelloe. — She  always 
gets  share  of  his  breakfast,  for  she'd  go  to  the  dickens  for  tay  ; 
God  forgive  her,  poor  woman  ;  I  guessed  well  enough  the  ra- 
son  of  her  civility — 'twas  just  to  see  how  crest-fallen  I'd  look, 
after  my  fine  jaunt  for  nothing;  but  I  nicked  her,  as  you'll  see. 
— '  How  are  you.  Father  John  V  says  she. — '  Very  well,  thank 
you,  ma'am,'  says  I.  '  How  did  you  lave  poor  Dan,' .says  she, 
putting  a  comical  face  en  herself.  'I  didn't  see  him  at  all,' 
says  L  'How's  that?'  says  she.  'Because  I  wouldn't  be 
let,'  says  I.  '  How  do  you  mane  you  wouldn't  be  let?'  says 
she.  '  Only  just  because  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  ministher  were 
within-side,  reading  to  him,  out  of  a  thract,'  says  I.  '  Reading 
to  him  out  of  a  thract,'  says  she;  'the  Lord  save  us  from  all 
harm!'  making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  'Reading  to  him  !  out  of 
a  thract !'  cried  Father  Costelloe,  who  just  then  come  down 
stalls  from  his  devotions.     '  The  apostate  I  he  deserves  to  bd 


CANVASSING.  57 

cursed  from  the  altar  !' — his  face  was  all  manner  of  colours, 
and  swelled  up  the  bigness  of  his  body  a'most.  '  Och,  then,' 
says  T,  '  you  may  keep  your  breath  to  cool  your  porridge,  Mr. 
Costelloe  ;  for  if  you  were  cursing  him  from  Sunday  morning 
till  Saturday  night,  he  wouldn't  care  a  pinch  of  snuff  about 
yourself  or  your  curses.'  'The  bastely  turncoat,'  said  Mrs. 
Priest,  pouring  out  a  cup  of  elegant  strong  tay  for  herself.  *  Not 
care  about  me  nor  my  curses  !'  cries  Father  Costelloe,  mightily 
displeased.  '  I  request,  sir,  '  you'll  spake  more  respectfully 
when  you  address  your  superior.'  *  How  will  ye  have  me 
spake  respectful,  when  I'mspakingthe  way  Protestants  spake T' 
*  You  were  spaking  of  one  of  my  flock,  sir;  you  don't  call 
them  Protestants,  I  suppose,'  says  he,  as  mad  as  could  be. 
'  Not  all  of  'em — only  Dan  Murphy  ;  he's  as  black  a  new  light 
as  Mrs.  Wilson,  or  the  minister  himself,  by  this  time,'  says  I. 
'  I  don't  b'lieve  any  such  thing,'  says  he.  '  Oh  very  well,  Mr. 
Costelloe,  you  needn't  if  you  don't  like.'  So  I  said  no  more, 
but  sat  down  to  my  collation.  I  was  mightily  fitagued  after 
my  duties  that  morning;  but  Father  Costelloe  was  too  mad  to 
ate  a  bit.  '  Pray  what  rasons  did  the  turncoat  give  for  his 
apostacy  V  *I  wasn't  let  see  him  at  all,'  says  I;  'but  his  wife 
tould  me  he  turned  partly  because  he  liked  the  Protestants,  and 
partly  to  spite  us.'  'Spite  iis/  What  does  that  mean?  He 
must  mean  to  spite  you,  Mr.  Molloy — You've  been  negligent  of 
your  duty,  sir.'  '  Faith,  I  haven't,  Mr.  Costelloe  ;  and  'tisn't 
me  he  means,  but  yourself,  that's  to  say,  Mrs.  Priest.'  '  Me !' 
says  she,  trembling,  and  turning  as  white  as  a  sheet,  for  she's 
greatly  in  dread  of  displasing  Father  Costelloe,  and  no  blame 
to  her :  '  What  have  I  to  do  with  a  villian  of  his  kind  turning 
Protestant]'  '  I  don't  know,'  said  I,  '  whether  he  tells  thrulh 
or  no,  but  the  rason  he  gives  is  that  you  refused  a  son  of  his 
liquor,  on  score;  and  himself  and  his  son  swore,  by  this  and 
that,  they'd  be  revenged  on  you  and  Father  Costelloe,  and 
cheat  you  out  of  his  funeral.'  '  You  unfortunate  woman  I'  said 
Father  Costelloe,  looking  at  her  as  if  she  would  ate  her  up 
alive — and  she  shaking  like  a  lafe.  '  Oh  !  Father  Costelloe, 
dear,'  says  she,  'forgive  me  this  once.     Oh!  for  the  sake  of 

'  'Go!  this  minute  and  ask  Dan  Murphy's  pardon, 

and  his  son's,  and  tell  'em  they're  welcome  to  every  dhrop  of 
liquor  in  your  house,  whether  they  pay  for  it  or  not.'  If  you 
seen  the  wry  face  she  made,  for  she's  the  greatest  skin-flint, 
and  the  proudest  and  most  concated  woman  in  the  parish,  in 
regard  of  being  married  to  the  priest's  nepliew.  '  Wliy  don't 
you  go  at  once  ]'  says  Father  Costelloe.     'I'm  waiting  sir,' 


58 


CANVASSING. 


says  she,  mighty  mild,  'just  to  finish  my  drop  of  tay.'  '  Your 
tay,  woman,'  says  he,  bouncing  off  his  chair  as  if  he  was 
shot;  *  if  you  don't  go  this  minute,  bit  nor  sup,  tay,  nor  mate, 
shall  you  ever  have  in  my  house.  What's  a  drop  of  ditch- 
water  of  its  kind,  compared  to  my  losing  the  best  funeral  in  the 
parish,  to  say  nothing  of  the  poor  man's  soul,  and  all  by  your 
own  fault'?'  So,  away  she  went,  laving  her  tay  after  her,  and 
starving  with  the  hunger,  all  the  way  to  Dan  Rlurphy's,  on  a 
pillion  ;  and  had  to  hire  a  man  to^ sit  before  her,  which  vexed  her 
well,  I  promise  you.  Nothing  could  equal  the  surprise  of  the 
Murphys  when  she  began  pallalooing,  and  cxy'mg peccavi  for  not 
giving  thein  lick,  and  offering  them  everything  in  her  house  for 
nothing.  13 ut  when  she  began  talking  of  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the 
minister,  they  thought  her  going  mad  entirely  ;  and  when  the 
murder  came  out,  at  last,  back  she  came  to  us,  fit  to  be  tied,  mad, 
outrageous.  '  What  made  you,'  says  she,  '  have  the  assurance 
to  make  a  fool  of  me,  Misthress  Priest?'  '  One  good  turn  de- 
serves another.'  '  I'll  tell  Father  Costelloe  of  you,'  says  she. 
'  ril  tell  Father  Costelloe  ot'i/oii,^  says  I ;  so  there  then  it  ended  ; 
and  there  ends  my  story — gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  I'm  much 
indebted  to  you  for  your  plasing  attention." 

"  It  is  rather  we  who  are  indebted  to  yon,  sir,"  politely  ob- 
served Lord  Warringdon,  "I  assure  you  I  have  been  much 
amused." 

*'Raally,"  observed  McAlpine,  to  Isabel,  "  he  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  say  so  ;  a  man  of  Lord  Warringdon's  habits  and 
education  should  be  suparior  to  finding  amusement  in  the  con- 
versation of  a  man  of  no  mind  ;  he  can  have  no  mind  himself." 

*'  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  happen  to  be  mistaken,  twice  in  a 
breath;"  replied  Isabel,  sharply,  "father  John  has  a  strong 
brogue;  but  he  has  mind  too  ;  and  as  to  Lord  Warringdon,  he 
has  taste,  as  well  as  mind." 

I'  Oh,  I  believe  I  must  allow  him  to  have  taste;  for  on  one 
point,  at  laste,  we  agree — that  of  admiring  the  same  lady — but, 
now,  with  respect  to  the  other  quaalification  ;  a  great  dale  de- 
pends upon  what  would  be  our  different  definitions  of  a  man  of 
mind  ;   what  would  you  define  a  man  of  mind  to  be  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I'm  a  bad  hand  at  definitions  :"  answered  Isabel,  care- 
lessly. 

"  What  a  libel  on  your  own  intellectual  powers  !"  cried  Mr. 
McAlpine,  "you  that  shine  aqually  in  the  flowery  fields  of  the 
imagination,  or  the  sublime  heights  of  the  understanding. 
Come  now  ;  you  must  not  be  afraid  of  me  ;  and  you  must  have 
a  Utile  more  confidence  in  yourself;"  he  continued,  tenderly  en- 


CANVASSING.  59 

couraging  her  supposed  timidity — "  Come,  fair  Isabel,  I'm 
waitinor  for  your  definition." 

"A  definition  of  what]"  inquired  Lord  Warringdon,  who, 
for  the  first  time  that  evening,  found  an  opportunity  of  seating 
himself  near  Isabel.  He  had  more  than  once  previously  en- 
deavoured to  make  his  way  to  her,  but  had  been  constantly  in- 
terrupted en  route  by  Lady  Anne,  who  always  contrived,  just 
on  those  occasions,  to  have  something  particular  to  say  to  him; 
he  could  not  imagine  how  it  all  happened. 

Are  our  readers  more  sagacious  than  his  Lordship  1  But, 
accustomed  as  he  was,  in  all  things,  great  or  small,  to  have  his 
own  way,  opposition,  however  unintentional,  or  accidental,  ir- 
ritated his  impatience,  and  confirmed  into  determinate  will  what 
had  originally  been,  perhaps,  but  a  caprice.  Each  time,  there- 
fore, that  Lady  Anne  (even  though  but  accidentally  as  he  sup- 
posed) had  intercepted  him,  he  grew  but  still  more  resolved  to 
accomplish  his  aim  of  the  moment  ;  in  the  meanwhile,  he 
glanced  at  Isabel  the  oftener,  because  he  could  not  at  once  make 
up  to  her;  and  thus  noticed  in  her  something  of  interest,  which 
otherwise  must  have  escaped  him.  He  remarked  her  listless, 
pre-occupied  air ;  he  remarked  that  she  never  voluntarily  ad- 
dressed her  companion,  and  that  when  obliged,  from  politeness, 
to  reply  to  his  observations,  her  eyes  were  directed  to  the  floor, 
or  to  the  ceiling,  or  to  father  John,  or  to  Mr.  Barham  ;  to  any, 
or  every  point,  nay,  fittingly  to  himself,  in  fact,  rather  than  to 
the  face  of  the  person  who  was  addressing  her;  and  now  the 
viscount's  curiosity  became  augmented  anew,  and  he  watched 
her  attentively. 

It  was  evident  that  Isabel  desired  to  be  free  of  her  compan- 
ion ;  she  did  not,  however,  pout  or  toss  her  head,  in  manifesta- 
tion of  her  feelings  ;  an  occasional  contraction  of  her  expressive 
brow  alone  betrayed  her  impatience  of  the  constraint  imposed 
upon  her ;  indicaiingeven  vexation,  onh'  just  so  far  as  became  one 
whose  mind  was  as  polished  as  her  manners.  For  the  first  time 
Lord  Warringdon  looked  with  interest  upon  an  unmarried  wo- 
man, who  was  not  an  heiress.  He  had  seen  Isabel  much  more 
brilliant  in  beauty  than  upon  that  evening;  but  he  had  never 
felt  her  to  be  so  loveable;  even  those  who  have  no  feeling 
themselves  are  touched  by  an  unconscious,  delicate  show  of  it 
in  others,  particularly  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  the  abstract 
quality  is  illustrated  by  a  pretty  face.  No ;  never  had  he 
thought  her  eye-lashes  so  long  and  so  dark  as  now,  when  he 
saw  them  almost  reflected  on  a  transparent  cheek,  pale  from 
suppressed  emotion.     Nor  had  her  light  brown  hair,  which  fell 


60  CANVASSING. 

in  rich  natural  clusters  about  her  face  and  neck,  ever  Appeared 
to  him  so  luxuriant  and  beautiful  as  at  present,  when  it  shaded 
a  countenance  no  longer  lighted  up  by  vivacity,  and,  (the  bet- 
ter part  of  beauty,)  the  expression  of  a  quick  succession  of 
thought — but  breathing  a  gentle  and  unobtrusive  pensiveness. 

"What  a  pity,"  thought  he,  "to  throw  away  so  graceful  a 
creature  upon  that  brute  !" 

The  look  of  delighted  surprise  with  which  Isabel  started 
from  her  dull  inertion,  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  when  he  came 
up,  and  asked,  as  has  been  mentioned — "  A  definition  of  w^hatV 
and  the  radiant  smile  with  which  she  welcomed  him,  were  not 
lost  upon  so  acute  an  observer  of  female  nature  as  Lord  War- 
ringdon. 

"  Her  cheek  is  not  pale  now,"  thought  he,  "nor  does  she 
turn  away  her  eyes  when  she  looks  at  we.  Her  look  is,  indeed, 
timid,  but  not  avoiding." 

Isabel  felt  that  the  words  of  his  question  were  nothing — but 
its  tone  much.  Isabel  felt  this,  and  her  face  beamed  with  joy 
and  intelligence. 

"The  statue  of  Pygmalion,"  thought  he,  "  warmed  into 
life!" 

But  Isabel  answered  his  question.  "Mr.  McAlpine  insists 
on  my  defining  a  man  of  mind  ;  the  idea  of  asking  a  woman  for 
a  definition  !  to  require  us  to  imprison  our  vague,  fleeting,  im- 
palpable, and  often  as  men  say,  irrational  impressions,  and  im- 
aginings within  the  limit  of  a  cold,  precise,  philosophical  rule. 
I  appeal  to  you,  now,  is  it  not  unfair  V 

"  Mr.  McAlpine,  don't  let  her  off,"  said  Lord  Warringdon, 
"  a  definition  from  her  would  be  impayahle — there  would  be 
such  sweet — " 

"  Confusion  !  you  were  going  to  say,"  interrupted  Isabel, 
laughing — "  so  I'll  save  you  the  confusion  of  finishing  a  sen- 
tence so  courageously  begun." 

"  No  !"  said  he,  "  such  sweet  freshness  and  feeling,  and — " 

"  Nonsense — "  again  interrupted  Isabel.  '*  But  it  is  quite 
true,  you  must  never  expect  anything  precise,  or  raisonne,  in 
our  ideas.  We  are  nothing  but  '  a  bundle  of  sympathies,'  you 
know%  creatures  who  never  think  according  to  reason,  but  ac- 
cording to  feeling:  in  one  word,  women  think  with  their 
hearts.""" 

"  They  could  not  think  with  anything  half  so  good,"  rejoined 
Lord  Warringdon — "  allons  commencez,^^ 

Isabel  laughed  again,  and  shook  her  head.  Mr.  McAlpine 
was  inexpressibly  gratified  at  the  change  that  had  taken  place 


CANVASSING.  61 

in  her  manner,  since  Lord  Warringdon  had  interrupted  their 
tete  a  tete. 

"  She  feels  more  at  ease  now,  that  she's  no  longer  alone  with 
me.  How  soon  one  can  see  when  a  woman  raally  loves — the 
very  manes  she  takes  to  conceal  her  passion  betrays  it — come 
now,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  half-tender,  half-playful — "  come,  I 
insist  on  your  definition  ;  I'll  not  take  the  laste  excuse." 

Just  at  this  moment,  very  much  to  Mr.  McAlpine's  annoy- 
ance, Maria  joined  the  group — she  had  committed  Mr.  Barham 
to  the  safe  guardianship  of  father  John,  her  zealous  ally  on  all 
occasions,  and  her  indefatigable  proneur ,-  being,  therefore,  re- 
lieved, for  a  season  at  least,  from  such  close  application  to  her 
own  interests,  she  was  willing  to  dispose  of  a  few  moments' 
leisure  to  her  sister's  advantage. 

"  I  wish,"  thought  she,  "  that  McAlpine  would  take  himself 
off,  and  leave  Warringdon  and  Isabel  together;"  and,  aware  of 
McAlpine's  refined  antipathy  to  the  love  of  jesting,  and  ridicule 
of  sentiment,  she  judged  that  her  own  presence  would  most  ef- 
fectually secure  his  departure. 

"  Well,  good  people,"  said  she,  "  what  high  and  weighty 
matters  are  you  discussing  here]  Isabel,  I  see,  is  picking  her 
glove  to  pieces,  so  I  conclude  she's  the  umpire  chosen  to  decide 
on  the  contending  opinions  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  Now, 
my  advice  to  you  is,  to  say  out  at  once,  boldly,  yes,  or  no, 
whatever  may  be  the  point  at  issue.  Better  to  offend  either  or 
both,  (your  pardon,  gentlemen,)  than  spoil  a  pair  of  Paris 
gloves." 

"Your  tariff  of  our  worth  is  certainly  highly  flattering  ;"  ob- 
served Lord  Warringdon,  smilingly. 

'^Ohl  I  don't  profess  to  be  polite :"  replied  Maria,  "you 
must  know  I'm  odd,  and  odd  people  are  never  expected  to  be 
civil ;  and  you  can't  think  what  a  comfort  that  is.  But  come  ! 
what's  the  subject  of  your  contestation?  Let  us  see  if  I  can't 
settle  it,  as  fairly  and  more  fearlessly  than  Isabel.  Love,  poli- 
tics, religion,  or  literature?  under  which  of  these  four  grand 
divisions  of  squabbling  have  you  ranged  yourselves  for  battle, 
heroes  of  white  Albion  and  green  Erin  ?" 

"Our  conversation  has  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  the  topics 
you  have  enumerated  ;  neither  was  it  a  dispute,  but  a  discus- 
sion;"  observed  McAlpine,  annoyed  at  Maria's  jesting  manner 
of  treating  all  his  favourite  subjects  :  "  your  sister  is  going  to 
oblige  me  (if  you'll  allow  her  to  speak,)  with  her  idaas  of  a 
man  of  mind." 

"  Well,  Isabel — proceed,  I  entreat — I'm  all  attention  ;"  said 
6 


6!2 


CANVASSlNGi 


Maria,  assuming  an  attitude  of  mock-gravity,  which  enraged 
McAlpine,  but  made  Lord  Warringdon  laugh.  "  Come,  Isabel," 
she  ran  on,  perceiving  that  her  sister  still  remained  silent, 
"enlighten  us  with  3'our  wisdom." 

"  Nonsense,  Maria,"  said  Isabel ;  "  I  have  already  told  these 
gentlemen  that  I  never  could  define  anything;  and  I'm  quite 
tired  of  having  to  repeat  the  same  thing  so  often." 

"  So  you  won't  oblige  me]"  murmured  McAlpine,  in  a  tone 
of  tender  reproach. 

"  I  did  not  think,"  observed  Lord  Warringdon,  "  you  were 
so  unpersuadable." 

"What  stupid  creatures  men  are,"  resumed  Maria;  "you 
never  can  guess  a  woman's  real  motive  for  doing,  or  not  doing, 
any  one  given  thing.  Here's  my  poor,  guileless,  innocent  sis- 
ter, accused  of  disobligingness  by  one  gentleman,  and  of  unper- 
suadableness  by  another,  two  most  cruel  and  undeserved  charges; 
for  she  is  dying  to  oblige  the  one,  and  could  be  persuaded  to 
anything  by  the  other  ;  while  the  motive  for  her  silence  is  sim- 
ply this  :  she  fears  that  her  description  of  what  she  imagines  to 
be  an  interesting  man  may  not  sufficiently  appear  a  fancy  por- 
trait ;  and  that,  therefore,  one  or  the  other  of  you  may  think  he 
discerns  his  own  features  in  the  beau  ideal  sketch  of  her  imagi- 
nation." 

"  I  do  wish,"  said  Isabel,  blushing  very  deeply  and  looking 
extremely  offended  ;  "  I  do  wish,  Maria,  you  would  not  speak 
as  you  do,  without  thinking;  Mr.  McAlpine,  of  course,  knows 
you  are  only  jesting  ;  but  Lord  Warringdon  will  ceally  think 
that — "  she  stopped  abruptly,  aware  how  ill-judged  was  any 
comment  on  Maria's  speech,  and  how  much  consciousness  of  its 
truth  her  very  anxiety  betrayed.  Maria,  who  never  talked  at 
random,  had  contemplated  this  very  result;  and,  having  attain- 
ed it,  and  attracted  Lord  Warringdon's  attention,  she  now 
stepped  into  her  sister's  aid. 

"  Mr.  McAlpine,  since  Isabel  will  not  oblige  you,  I  will. 
Now,  I  define  a  man  of  mind  to  be  the  man  who  has  a  mind  for 
me,  and  that's  what  I  call  a  jewel  of  a  definition;"  she  went 
on,  mimcking  father  John's  intonations. 

Isabel  and  Lord  Warringdon  laughed,  but  Mr.  McAlpine 
looked  at  her  with  ineffable  disgust,  as  he  muttered  to  himself — 

"  The  idaa  of  any  woman  confessing  such  utter  feminine  de- 
gradation and  want  of  sentiment !  She's  an  abominable  crea- 
ture."— 

But  though  Maria's  jest  upon  so  sacred  a  subject  had  dis- 
pleased   Mr.  McAlpine,  it  delighted  Mr.  Barham;    who,  on 


CANVASSING.  63 

hearing  the  laugh,  came  flying  across  the  room  to  inquire  its 
cause. 

"  Oh — bravo  !  oh  !  how  well  you  do  mimic  Mr.  Molly  !  'tis 
so  like  ;"  and  he  sprang  about  the  room  in  delight. 

"  What's  that  you're  all  laughing  at]"  inquired  father  John. 

"  Oh  !  something  so  droll,  but  1  can't  tell  you  what,  because 
you  might  be  cross." 

"  Not  he  !"  cried  Maria  ;  "  father  John  is  never  cross  at  any- 
thing /  say  or  do  ;  are  you,  father  John  ]" 

"  Ah,  you  rogue,  I  guess  well  wliat  you're  doing;  telling 
some  diverting  lie  of  me  ;  but  you're  welcome,"  added  he, 
looking  kindly  at  his  favourite  ;  "  you're  welcome,  whatever 
you  say." 

"  He's  very  near  it,  isn't  he,  Miss  Wilmotl"  asked  Mr.  Bar- 
ham;  "I'll  tell  him,  shall  H  yes  I  will.  Miss  Wilmot  was 
giving  an  imitation  of  you,  Mr.  Molly ;  so  like  you'd  have 
died  yourself  to  hear  her  !"  and  he  ran  to  join  the  priest. 

"I  wouldn't  doubt  her,"  replied  the  good-humoured  father 
John;  'tisn't  the  first  time  she  done  it,  I'll  engage;  no,  nor  it 
won't  be  the  last  time  either." 

"Did  you  hear  what  she  said  about  the  man  of  mind,  Mr. 
Molly?" 

*'  A  man  of  what  mind  V  inquired  father  John. 

*'  Oh,  not  a  man  of  any  particular  mind — only  a  man  of  mind 
in  general,  you  know." 

*'  Faith,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Father  John. 

Maria  perceiving  one  gentleman  could  not  understand,  nor 
the  other  explain,  took  upon  herself  the  office  of  interpreter. 
When  she  had  done — 

*'  Ha  I  ha  !  ha  !  upon  my  word,  that's  an  excellent  idea  of  a 
man  of  mind:"  praised  father  John,  shaking  his  plump  sides. 
— "  I'll  tell  you  one  thing.  Miss  IMaria, — whoever  has  a  mind 
for  you,  will  show  he  has  sense,  at  any  rate,  to  choose  the 
pleasantest  crature  from  this  to  yourself,  whoever  the  others 
may  be ;  that's  what  I  call  a  fine,  hearty,  sinsible  young  wo- 
man :"  he  continued,  turning  to  Mr.  Barham — "  one  that  says 
out  at  once  whatever  comes  into  her  head,  without  throubling 
herself  what  any  body  thinks  of  her ;  and  that's  the  girl  for  my 
money  !  and  a  pleasant  crature  ;  always  saying  one  droll  thing 
or  other,  enough  to  make  a  corpse  laugh." 

"  Well,  do  you  know  I  thought  she  was  very  droll,  though  I 
never  heard  any  one  say  she  was  reckoned  so — I  begin  to  un- 
derstand Irish  humour,  I  think,  though  1  havn't  been  long  here, 
yet ;  but  is  she  as  droll  as  you  are,  Mr.  Molly  1"  • 


64 


CANVASSING. 


"  Droll  as  me,  is  it  1  Troth  she  is,  and  far  droller,  than  ever 
I  will  be." 

'•  But  has  she  such  nice  stories  as  that  about  the  funeral,  Mr. 
Molly  ?  I  wish  you'd  mention  what  stories  she  does  tell — will 
you  ]" 

"  I  don't  remember,  upon  my  word,  exactly,  at  the  present 
moment,  any  story  of  hers,  in  perticklar;  but,  indeed,  1  nearly 
lost  my  life  by  a  joke  of  hers,  onct." 

"  Oh,  did  you]"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barham,  in  ecstasy  : — "do 
tell  me  how  1" 

"  I  was  ating  a  potaty,  hot  out  of  the  pot,  one  day,  below  in 
the  kitchen,  and  she  came  in,  I  forget  for  what,  now ;  and  she 
beg-an  telling  me  some  quare  thing  or  other,  and  myself  began 
to  laugh  ;  and,  troth,  the  potaty  stuck  in  my  throat,  and  I  had 
liked  to  be  choked  ;  and  would  never  have  ate  a  bit  again,  I'm 
sure,  only  she  thumped  me  between  the  shoulders,  and  forced 
the  potaty  out  of  me." 

"Oh,  how  funny  !"  cried  Mr.  Barham,— "how  I  wish  I  had 
been  there  ! — I  should  have  so  liked  to  have  seen  you  choking, 
Mr.  Molly."  ^ 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  aqual  of  him  for  idiosy ;  he  can't  even 
call  my  own  name  right,"  muttered  father  .Tohn.  "Troth,  and 
if  'twould  be  the  same  to  you,  I'd  rather  you  seen  some  one  else 
choking." 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  mean,  you  know,  that  I  should  like  you  to  be 
choked,  in  earnest;  only  it  must  have  looked  so  funny  to  see 
you  all  black  in  the  face,  and  Miss  Wilmot  slapping  your 
back  !     What  was  it  she  told  you  that  made  you  laugh  so  ]" 

"  I  forget,  indeed,  what  it  was  !  'tis  a  good  while  ago, 
now." 

"  Well !  a  story  of  your  own,  then,  Mr.  Molly  !  Do  pray 
tell  me  something  funny." 

"  I  hav'nt  a  funny  story  in  the  world,  Mr.  Barham,  that  I 
hav'nt  told  you  already." 

Poor  Mr.  Barham  looked  exceedingly  disappointed. 
"  Well,  the  same  over  again  ! — Will  you,  Mr.  Molly,  if  you 
please  V 

"Ah  !  my  God  !  was  there  ever  any  poor  man  so  persecuted 
as  I  am,  and  all  on  account  of  the  bad  luck  1  had  to  tell  him  the 
thrick  1  played  on  Mrs.  Priest !  One  would  think  I  had  no- 
thing to  do,  from  morning  to  night,  but  remembering  funny  sto- 
ries to  divart  him.  I  wish  I  was  in  my  bed  out  of  his  way. 
Miss  Maria,  my  honey,"  cried  he,  "  I  want  to  spake  to  you  a 


CANVASSING.  65 

inoment — whisper.  This  young  man  is  killing  me ;  I  can't 
stand  him  any  longer,  my  pet." 

"  Why,  what  is  he  doing,  Father  John  1" 

»*  Bothering  me  to  death  for  funny  stories,  as  he  calls 
them." 

**  Well ;  can't  you  tell  him  some  V 

"What  else  have  I  been  doing  all  night  1  but,  any  how,  I 
can't  stop  now,  for  I  have  to  read  my  office  before  I  go  to  bed, 
you  know;  and  it's  getting  late ;  so  God  bless  you;"  and  fa- 
ther John  stole  quietly  out  of  the  room,  to  the  great  discom- 
fiture of  Mr.  Barham  : — Maria,  the  only  person  of  the  party 
who  could  supply  the  place  of  Father  John,  being  engaged  talk- 
ing with  Mr.  McAlpine,  Lord  Warringdon,  and  her  sister. 
— Aware,  in  f^ict,  of  Mc Alpine's  horror  of  anything  savour- 
ing of  a  jest  on  any  subject,  but  more  especially  on  one  of 
a  poetical  kind,  she  had  sent  back  Mr.  Barham  to  Father 
John's  charge,  on  a  quest  for  "  funny  stories,"  and  indulged 
herself  in  allusions  to  them,  purely  for  the  purpose  of  scaring 
away  Mr.  McAlpine,  and  leaving  Lord  Warringdon  and  her 
sister  tete  a  tete.  But  this  was  the  more  difficult  to  accomplish, 
as  Mr.  McAlpine  had  never  been  so  pleasingly  impressed 
with  the  "  idaa  of  Isabel's  attachment,"  as  upon  that  evening. 
— "  Her  constrained  and  timid  manner  when  alone  with  me — 
her  gaiety  and  animation  when  Warringdon  joined  us — her 
charming  reluctance  to  define  a  man  of  mind,  for  fear  I  should 
penetrate  her  sacret,  and  who  it  was  that  raalized  her  roman- 
tic idaa  of  perfection  ;  and  then,  her  sweet  agitation  at  her 
sister's  indelicate  allusion  to  the  raal  motive  for  her  refusing 
to  oblige  me; — everything  conspires  to  give  me  the  delight- 
ful assurance  that  I  am  fondly,  tenderly,  and  devotedly  be- 
loved by  this  fascinating  crature." — Such  was  the  tenor  of 
Mr.  McAlpine's  cogitation,  as  he  arose  to  effec  this  escape 
from  the  coarseness  and  vulgarity  of  Maria's  conversation. 

"  I  am  going  to  lave  you  for  a  moment,"  he  said  to  Isabel ; 
and,  accompanying  this  announcement,  at  once  afflicting  and 
consolatory  (inasmuch  as  the  intimation  of  his  departure  was 
softened  by  the  assurance  of  his  speedy  return,)  by  a  look  of 
mingled  triumph  and  tenderness,  at  the  one  sister,  and  of  un- 
mingied  and  unmeasured  abhorrence  at  the  other — he  dragged 
his  lazy  length  across  the  room,  and  seated  himself  near  Lady 
Anne,  who  welcomed  him  with  one  of  her  most  seducing  smiles, 
in  which  Mr.  McAlpine  read  delight  at  his  attention  to  her 
daughter,  and  a  strong  though  vain  effort  to  conceal  that  de- 
light. Isabel  and  Lord  Warringdon  also  caught  this  expres- 
6* 


66  CANVASSING. 

sion  of  Lady  Anne's  countenance,  and  discerned  another  feeling 
mingled  with  it; — nanoely,  displeasure  towards  Lord  Warring- 
don,  for  having-,  by  his  gaucherie^  interrupted  the  more  than 
probable  termination  of  Mr.  McAlpine's  assiduities,  that  even- 
ing ;  and  also  against  her  daughter,  for  having  preferred  a  flir- 
tation with  one  gentleman,  to  a  declaration  from  the  other. 
And  now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  Lord  Warringdon  beheld 
a  mother  angry,  and  a  daughter  frightened,  at  his  assiduities; 
— for  Isabel  grew  pale  and  constrained  as  she  had  previously 
done,  when  talking  with,  or  rather  when  talked  to,  by  McAI- 
pine,  although  the  Viscount  felt  that  the  same  cause  did  not 
now  produce  the  similar  effect.  The  conversation,  hitherto,  so 
flowing  and  animated,  became  broken  and  spiritless. 

"Your  Father  and  I,"  he  observed,  after  a  pause  of  some 
seconds,  "  are  going  to  ride  to-morrow  to  a  Mr.  Molony's,  who 
has  votes — Will  you  come  V 

"  Maria  will,  1  dare  say." 

"  That  is  truly  an  Irish  answer,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  I  did 
not  ask  whether  Maria  would,  but  whether  you  v,'ould — No 
diplomatic  subterfuges  will  avail  you  with  me,  however.  I 
<iemand  an  honest  answer; — Yes — or  No — " 

"  No" — replied  Isabel,  laughing — but  Lord  Warringdon  per- 
ceived that  her  laugh  was  affected,  and  also  divined  that,  al- 
though she  said  tlie  No,  so  courageously,  her  heart  sunk  be- 
cause she  dared  not  say — Yes. 

"  I  thought  you  liked  riding  V  looking  disappointed  at  her 
refusal. 

"  So  I  do,"  said  she,  trying  to  seem  perfectly  indifferent. 

"  It  must  be,  then,  that  you  don't  like  your  proposed  com- 
panions ;  which  of  them  is  the  obnoxious  person  1  Mr.  Wilmot 
or  myself?" 

A  slight  tremour  of  her  voice  did  not  escape  him,  as  she  an- 
swered with  affected  carelessness, — "  Neither  one  nor  the  other ; 
my  only  motive  for  declining  your  invitation  is,  that  it  will  not 
be  in  my  power  to  accept  it." 

"  So  you  won't  come  and  help  me,  as  you  have  done  hereto- 
fore, to  win  the  hearts  of  the  men  of %     But  I  am  quite  in 

the  black-book,  I  see  ;  you'll  neither  speak  to  me,  nor  look  at 
me,  ever  since  the  arrival  of  your  mama's  friend,  the  adoring, 
adorable,  and,  doubtless,  adored,  Mr.  McAlpine." 

Isabel  darted  a  look  of  indignant  surprise  at  him,  and,  rising 
abruptly,  left  the  room.  In  her  look  he  read  something  more 
than  astonishment,  or  even  displeasure,  something  that  expres- 
sed, as  distinctly  as  if  she  had  given  utterance  to  the  feeling — 


CANVASSING.  67 

"  You  are  ungenerous  in  saying  this  ;  for  you  not  only  know 
perfectly  well  that  I  abominate  McAlpine,  but  you  also  are 
aware  that  I  like  yourself." 

Lord  Warringdon  dreamt  that  night  that  he  was  in  love  with 
Isabel  Wilmot,  and  when  he  awoke,  he  did  not  laugh  at  his 
dream. 

"If  she  had  a  hundred  or  even  fifty  thousand  pounds," 
thought  he — If  is  a  great  peace-maker  in  love  as  well  as 
war. — When  a  man  or  woman  comes  to  an  if,  there  are  hopes 
or  fears,  as  the  case  may  be,  that  all  is  not  sound  "  in  the  state 
of  Denmark." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

After  breakfast  next  morning,  Mr.  Barham  set  off  grouse 
shooting,  escorted  by  Pat  Murphy  ;  and  Mr.  McAlpine  remained 
at  home  to  talk  sentiment  and  read  Lord  Byron  to  Isabel ;  Mr. 
Wilmot  and  Lord  Warringdon  were  just  mounting  their  horses 
on  their  canvassing  expedition  ;  and  Isabel  was  standing  at  the 
window,  ostensibly  to  admire  her  father's  Arab,  which  was 
prancing  and  curvetting  with  all  the  vanity  of  conscious  beauty, 
never  suspecting  that  part,  at  least,  of  the  admiration  he  excited 
was  owing  to  the  chance  of  his  having  that  day  for  his  rider  his 
master's  guest  rather  than  his  master  himself. 

Lord  \Varringdon  looked  up  at  the  window,  and  smiled  when 
he  saw  Isabel ;  "  Wish  me  success,"  cried  he,  as  he  kissed  his 
hand  and  rode  off. 

"Come  away  from  the  window,  my  dear !"  said  Lady  Anne. 
"  Lord  Warringdon  can  mount  his  horse,  I  suppose,  without 
your  superintendence.  I  must  say  I  never  saw  such  conduct  in 
any  young  woman,  circumstanced  as  you  are; — engaged,  I  may 
say,  to  one  man,  and  yet  carrying  on  a  flirtation  with  another. 
I  really  have  not  patience  with  such  want  of  sense,  and  want 
of  honour.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  McAlpine  would 
have  proposed  for  you  last  night,  had  you  behaved  with  com- 
mon decency  ;  but  just  as  he  was  making  up  his  mind  to  speak, 
you  set  on  foot  a  trashy  conversation  with  Lord  Warringdon,  who 
has  no  more  serious  intentions  about  you  than  he  has  about 
me;  he  is  just  laughing  at  you, — that  you  may  rely  upon. 
Maria,"  said  she,  turning  to  her  other  daughter,  "  I  shall  be 


68  CANVASSING. 

obliged  by  your  talking  to  your  sister  on  ibis  business  ;  perhaps 
you  may  have  more  influence  on  her  than  1  have ;"  and  so  say- 
ing, she  quitted  the  room  wilh  an  air  of  displeasure. 

*'  I  am  a  miserable  creature,"  exclaimed  Isabel. 

"  Because  mamma  won't  let  you  look  out  of  the  window  at 
Lord  Warringdonl"  asked  her  sister,  laughing. 

Isabel  coloured.  "  I  care  very  little  about  Lord  Warringdon,  as 
it  happens,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  of  disdain.  "  It  is  not  neces- 
sary, I  suppose,  to  be  in  love  wilh  him  in  order  to  be  miserable 
at  the  thought  of  being  forced  to  marry  McAlpine.  Maria,  if 
you  knew  how  I  loathe  this  horrid  McAlpine,  I  am  sure  you 
would  pity  me, — even  mamma  would.  I  will  tell  her  that  I 
really  cannot  marry  him;  shall  I,  Maria?" 

"  Why,  as  for  that,  I  don't  see  what  use  there  would  be  in 
any  such  avowal.  You  know  she  made  poor  Louisa  marry  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  her  grand-father,  and  that  all  Louisa's 
protestations  of  disgust  were  nothing  in  the  balance  against  fifty 
thousand  per  annum  and  a  peerage.  The  grand  object  of  mam- 
ma's life  has  been,  you  know,  to  marry  her  daughters  advanta- 
geously. We  may  break  our  hearts  (such  of  us  as  have  one) 
afterwards  if  we  like, — ihat  will  not  be  her  fault,  but  ours  ;  she 
does  her  duty,  slie  gets  us  good  matches,  and  leaves  all  the  rest, 
like  a  good  christian,  to  Providence.  It  would  be,  therefore, 
quite  useless  to  tell  her  that  you  dislike  McAlpine  ;  she  knows 
already  that  you  do.  To  avoid  marrying  him,  you  must  marry 
somebody  else ;  that  is  your  only  chance  of  escape." 

"  Heaven  help  me  !  I  have  none,  then,"  exclaimed  Isabel, 
despairingly. 

"Yes,  you  have,"  replied  Maria,  who  feared  driving  her  sis- 
ter to  utter  desperation.  Yes,  you  have  a  chance,  and  a  brilliant 
one.  "  I  am  sure  Lord  Warringdon  admires  you  ;  whether  he 
is  sufficiently  e.s/jriY  to  marry  you,  is  another  story.  Try  what 
you  can  effect  with  him;  but  take  care  that  mamma  shall  see 
nothing  of  your  proceedings,  or  she  would  stop  you  at  once,  for 
she  fears  losing  McAlpine  and  not  succeeding  with  Warring- 
don. Besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  she  has  taken  it  into  her  head 
that  the  admiration  is  rather  on  your  side  than  his,  and  that  you 
may  make  yourself  ridiculous,  and " 

*'  I  am  really  much  indebted  to  her  for  her  flattering  estima- 
tion of  me,"  interrupted  Isabel,  highly  affronted;  "lam  not 
quite  mean  enough  to  fall  in  love  with  a  man  who  cares  nothing 
about  me,  nor  silly  enough  to  fancy  he  does,  if  he  really  does 
not.  Maria,  too,  sees  that  he  admires  me,"  thought  she  to  her- 
self; "  my  wishes  have  not,  then,  (juite  deceived  me,  and  I  havt 


CANVASSING.  69 

a  hope,  not  only  of  escaping  McAlpine,  but  of  securing  the  only 
man  I  ever  really  loved." 

Isabel  did  not  give  utterance  to  these  thoughts.  There  never 
had  existed  between  the  sisters  thathabit  of  confidence  on  every 
subject  which  forms  the  chief  bond  of  love  between  sisters  in 
general.  They  lived  together,  indeed,  rather  on  the  footing  of 
intimate  companions  than  of  trusting  and  trusted  friends  ;  nei- 
ther of  them,  however,  being  deficient  in  affection  for  the  other. 
They  liked  one  another  better  than  any  other  women  of  their 
acquaintance  ;  they  laughed  or  reasoned  together  as  the  case 
might  be,  but  they  seldom  talked.  And,  perhaps,  this  constraint 
was  natural  between  two  persons  whose  ways  of  thinking  were 
so  dissimilar.  Isabel,  however,  we  must  add,  felt  more  cau- 
tious of  Maria  than  Maria  of  her.  Maria  would  much  oftener 
speak  of  her  "designs,"  as  she  called  them,  than  Isabel  of  her 
attachments.  But  although,  on  the  present  occasion,  Isabel  hid 
her  secret  thoughts  from  her  sister,  Maria,  who  had  a  portion 
of  her  mother's  power  of  divination,  saw  what  was  passing  in 
mind, — saw  that  her  own  hint  about  Lord  Warringdon  was  ex- 
tremely acceptable,  and  would  be  forthwith  acted  upon.  Nor 
had  Isabel  ever  before  thought  so  highly  of  Maria's  good  sense 
and  penetration  as  she  now  did.  Aware,  however,  of  Maria's 
objection  to  "  love  talk,"  she  changed  the  subject  to  one  more 
interesting  to  her  sister. 

"  What  sort  of  a  young  man  is  Mr.  Barbara  1" 

"  Quite  a  fool,"  replied  Maria,  composedly. 

*'  I  wonder,  then,  Maria,  why  you  should  waste  your  time 
talking  to  him." 

"  I  do  not  waste  my  time  at  all ;  I  put  it  out  to  the  best  inte- 
rest imaginable, — cent,  per  cent.,  or  rather  thousand  per  cent. 
He  has  eighteen  thousand  a  year,  and  a  fine  place  in  Leices- 
tershire." 

"  Yes,  but  what  is  his  fine  place  to  us  1" 

"  His  fine  place  is  nothing  to  either  of  us,  at  present,  I  grant 
you ;  it  never  will  be  anything  to  you,  I  know,  inasmuch  as 
you  strike  at  nobler  quarry  ; — but  it  will  be  a  great  deal,  I  ex- 
pect, to  me." 

*'  Why,  Maria,  you  surely  would  not  marry  that  silly  boy  ?" 

"Wouldn't  n  naboMish*  as  Father  John  says;  I  wish,  my 
dear,  I  had  the  refusing  of  him,  if  he  was  twice  the  fool  he  is, — 
a  ditficult  thing,  by  the  bye." 

"Dear  Maria,  how  can  you,  with  your  strength  and  variety 
of  intellect,  seriously  contemplate  marrying  an  idiot  1'* 

*  Never  mind. 


70  CANVASSING. 

"  Isabel,"  said  Maria,  for  once  in  her  life  speaking  with  emo- 
tion, "  what  has  this  intellect  you  talk  of  effected  for  me  1  have 
not  all  the  pretty  fools,  or  ugly  heiresses,  who  started  into  life 
with  me,  been  married  before  me  1  Show  me  the  man  who 
marries  a  woman  because  she  has  intellect.  He  may  forgive  it 
in  a  pretty  woman, — he  certainly  will  in  a  rich  one, — but  she 
who  is  neither  wealthy  nor  handsome,  and  yet  possesses  it,  how 
does  she  fare?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  Maria,  I  never  met  a  clever  man  yet  who 
did  not  say  that  he  preferred  your  conversation  to  that  of  all 
the  women  he  knew." 

*' Psha,  my  dear  Isabel,  what  care  I  about  their  preferring 
my  conversation  "?  do  they  prefer  myself?  Let  us  come  to  the 
point, — which  of  them  has  proposed  for  me?  for,  after  all,  dis- 
guise the  thing  as  we  please,  that  is  the  grand  object  to  which 
our  perfections  of  any  kind,  and  the  admiration  they  excite,  na- 
turally tend.  You  remember  the  Frenchman  who,  whenever  he 
heard  of  a  beautiful  poem,  or  heroic  action,  used  to  say,  '  Tout 
cefa,  depuis  le  Marechal  de  France,  jusqu'^au  Saretien,  se  fait  in- 
dubitabkment  pour  avoir  de  quoi,  mettre  dans  la  bouche,  et  accompUr 
les  his  de  la  mastication  selon  moi,  est  le  vrai  resiiltat  des  choses  les 
plus rares de ce monde.^  Now,  for  'mastication,'  read  'marriage,' 
and  the  Frenchman's  opinions  are  mine.  Does  au  empty  com- 
pliment on  my  talents  repay  me,  think  you,  for  the  trouble  I 
have  taken  in  cultivating  them?  Clever  men  'converse''  with 
me,  'tis  true,  but  they  make  love  to  others,  and,  what  is  worse, 
marry  them.  So  that  I  have  long  ago  seen  that  mere  clever- 
ness would  never  answer;  and,  from  the  moment  I  became  sure 
o(  that,  I  began  to  say  and  do  strange,  sometimes  startling, 
things,  till  I  made  them  call  me  odd,  in  London ;  and  till  I  was 
followed  by  all  the  fools  about  town,  whom  my  reputation  for 
mere  talent  had,  in  the  first  instance,  frightened  away.  Well, 
I  came  home  here  ;  and  here  I  play  the  buffoon,  making  people, 
like  that  poor  silly  Barham,  laugh,  in  order  to  produce  effect, 
in  any  way  ;  so  that,  if  I  do  marry,  I  shall  owe  my  success,  not 
to  my  talents,  but  to  my  absurdity ;— not  to  my  sense,  but  to 
iny  nonsense.  No,  my  dear  Isabel,  credit  me,  talent  is  infi- 
nitely in  a  woman's  way.  What  a  pity  I  was  not  born  a  man, 
and  in  good  stirring  times  ;  then  I  should  have  made  Europe 
ring  with  my  name ;  now,  all  my  energies  can  get  me  nothing 
but  a  husband,  and  that  husband  a  fool." 

"  Maria,  you  deserve  a  better  fate  than  that,"  exclaimed  Isa- 
bel, struck  by  the  energy,  misplaced  as  it  was,  of  her  sister's 
Riind  ;  and,  suddenly  perceiving  the  secret  spring  of  actions, 


CANVASSING.  71 

and  of  opinions,  which  had  so  often  puzzled  her,  in  all  her  pre- 
vious examinations  of  Maria's  character. 

"  Bah  I"  said  Maria,  "  one  fate  is  as  good  as  another,  in  the 
long  run  ;  a  cloudy  ntiorning  may  change  into  a  bright  noon ; — 
it  may  be  very  pleasant  to  be  married  to  a  fool,  for  anything  you 
or  I  know  to  the  contrary  ;  and,  suppose  it  should  not,  why,  in 
a  hundred  years'  time  it  will  be  all  the  same  to  me,  whether  I 
had  been  married  to  Lord  Byron  or  Mr.  Barhnm  ;  or  whether  I 
had  set  the  world  in  a  blaze,  like  Helen,  or  Cleopatra ;  or  had 
been  shown  about  at  a  fair,  as  a  rival  to  the  pig-faced  lady.  At 
the  epoch  I  allude  to,  Mrs.  Barham  and  Lady  Warringdon  will 
look  alike,"  continued  she,  playfully  taking  her  sister  by  the 
chin  :  "A  little  courage  is  all  that  is  necessary  for  anything: 
do  you  not  recollect  how  much  easier  it  was,  when  we  wer^ 
both  children,  to  persuade  me  to  have  a  tooth  out,  than  you? 
you  would  cry ;  and  mamma  would  say,  '  do,  my  sweet  Isabel ; 
you  will  be  so  much  prettier,  you  know,  when  that  ugly  tooth 
is  out,  and  that  the  others  have  room  to  range ;  and  your  mouth 
will  be  quite  spoiled,  if  you  keep  it  in  ;  indeed  it  will,  my 
pretty:'  but  still  you  cried,  and  wrung  your  little  hands,  in  an 
agony  of  indecision,  as  to  which  of  the  two  appalling  misfor- 
tunes you  would  prefer, — the  pain  of  losing  a  tooth,  or  the  hor- 
ror of  injuring  your  beauty." 

Isabel  laughed  : — "  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  all  those  pangs  of 
mine  so  well !  and  you,  on  the  contrary,  used  to  submit,  with 
the  greatest  apparent  composure,  to  a  similar  operation." 

"  Yes,  chiefly  because  I  had  no  beauty  to  lose;  and  mamma 
needed  only  to  remind  me  of  all  the  inconvenience  I  had  already 
suffered,  from  the  aching  tooth,  and  inform  me  of  all  that  was 
yet  in  store  for  me;  and  how  I  should  be  kept  awake  all  night 
by  it,  and,  consequently,  rendered  unable  to  attend  to  my  lessons 
in  the  morning;  and  that,  then  it  was  likely  my  cousin,  little 
Anne  Rochford,  would  get  before  me.  This  was  enough — I 
made  up  my  mind  at  once  ;  for  I  could  have  better  borne  to  have 
every  tooth  in  my  head  dragged  out,  than  to  have  let  'my cousin, 
little  Anne  Rochford,  get  before  me.'  And  upon  exactly  such 
a  principle  I  have  acted  through  life.  When  once  convinced 
that  a  certain  object  is  necessary  to  my  welfare,  I  aim  at  that 
object,  steadily,  unswervingly — there  may  be  difficulties  accom- 
panying its  pursuits — unpleasant,  nay,  painful  ones  ;  I  disre- 
gard them  ;  I  overlook  the  means,  and  contemplate  only  the  re- 
sult. And  hearken,  Isabel.  I  have  applied  this  principle  more 
especially  to  my  matrimonial  speculation.  This  instant,  I 
would  take  anybody  who  could  make  somebody  of  me;  for  you 


72  CANVASSING. 

know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  a  woman  who  is  not  married  is  no- 
body. I  heard  my  mother  say  this  first :  I  looked  about  me, 
and  saw  that  she  was  right — and  I  determined  to  marry,  and 
become  somebody  as  soon  as  possible.  And  my  first  stroke 
was  for  a  distinguished  marriage — but  I  was  checked  somewhat 
in  my  aspirations  after  distinction  by  overhearing  the  same  lady 
deplore  to  my  aunt  '  how  plain  poor  Maria  was,  and  how  sadly 
difficult  it  would  be  to  marry  her.'  Now,  upon  hearing  this 
awkward  fact,  a  girl  of  much  sensibility,  or  mind,  (as  your 
adoring  Mr.  McAlpine  might  say,)  would  have  gone  to  her 
room,  and  cried  herself  into  fits — I  acted  more  wisely.  I  asked 
mamma  if  anything  could  supply  the  want  of  beauty  in  a  girll 
*  Yes,'  answered  she,  'accomplishments,  fashion,  and  above  all, 
knowledge  of  the  world  ;'  well,  I  worked  away,  day  and  night, 
at  the  accomplishments ;  and  I  studied  human  character  care- 
fully— and  shall  I  tell  you  what  has  been  the  result  of  this  lat- 
ter branch  of  my  pursuits'?  dislike  and  contempt  of  the  men — 
disgust  and  contempt  of  the  women." 

*'  With  such  an  opinion  of  society,  I  should  be  indifferent  as 
to  the  place  I  was  to  occupy  in  it;"  observed  Isabel. 

"Bad!  bad  logic,  Isabel;"  rejoined  Maria,  "ambition, 
whether  its  object  be  the  acquisition  of  an  empire,  or  of  a  hus- 
band, is  yet  in  its  nature  pretty  much  the  same.  Caesar  had 
not,  I  dare  say,  a  more  favourable  opinion  of  his  fellows  than  I 
have,  yet  he  spent  a  life  to  win  a  name  amongst  them.  Perhaps 
this  very  contempt  of  your  species  increases  your  desire  for 
distinction;  for,  who  can  reconcile  himself  to  be  nothing  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  are  already  nothing  in  his  ?  But,  to  go  on 
with  my  autobiography.  I  saw  that,  to  attain  my  object,  I 
must  not  boggle  at  a  few  disagreeable  adjuncts — I  determined, 
therefore,  to  take  the  first  tolerable  match  that  God  might  send, 
and  not  be  particular  about  a  little  folly  or  ugliness — old  age  or 
bad  temper — I  was  not  fastidious,  you  will  acknowledge;  yet, 
was  I  successful  1  I  had  sense,  and  I  had  not  beauty — so  alas  ! 
no  one  came  a  wooing  to  me.  Oh,  how  I  have  moved  heaven 
and  earth  to  gain  even  McAlpine." 

"  Dear  Maria,"  cried  Isabel,  "  I  wonder  the  very  thought  of 
him  did  not  make  you  sick." 

"  I  dare  say  it  might  have  had  that  effect,  if  I  had  allowed 
myself  to  think  at  all  about  him,  but  I  thought  only  on  McAl- 
pine castle,  and  ten  thousand  a  year !  a  carriage  and  servants  of 
my  own;  in  fact,  of  an  establishment!  And  that's  the  only 
way  to  manage  on  those  occasions.  Never  allow  yourself  to 
think  of  the  man  at  all,  only  of  the  fortune.     And  now,  does 


CANVASSING.  T^-' 

not  this  expoie  of  my  present  position  and  future  expectations 
convince  you  that  tiie  distincruislied  talents  you  are  graciously 
pleased  to  attribute  to  me,  luy  fair  sister,  have  been  hitherto, 
and  are  likely  always  to  remain,  useless  ornaments'?  and,  there- 
fore, that  it  would  be  the  height  of  folly  in  me,  to  object  to  the 
folly  of  Mr.  Barham." 

Before  Isabel  had  time  to  reply,  the  door  opened  suddenly, 
and  the  identical  person  of  whom  they  were  talking  bounded 
into  the  room. 

"Oh  !   INIiss  Wilmot,  is  it  true]" 
"Is  what  true]"  counter-questioned  Maria. 
"Is  it  true  that  you  are  goin^  to  have  a  ball]" 
"  Quite  true;"  she  answered. 

"  Oh  what  fun  it  will  be — an  Irish  ball — how  capital;"  and 
he  spun  about  the  room  like  a  tetotum.  "  Pat  Murphy  told  me 
all  about  it;  but  I  thought  he  was  only  trotting  me  ;  and  Lady 
Anne  has  been  so  kind  as  to  ask  me  to  stay  here  as  long  as  I 
like.  McAlpine  castle,  she  tells  me,  is  such  a  stoopid  place — 
no  fun  at  all  going  on  there — I'm  so  glad  I  was  overturned  on 
way  to  it." 

"  So  atn  I,  too  ;"  thought  ]\Iaria. 

"  Do  you  know,"  continued  ^Ir.  Barham,  "  that  I  think  Mr. 
McAlpine  rather  stoopid  himself]  I  never  should  take  him  for 
an  Irishman  ;  he  never  makes  one  laugh,  does  he,  now  ]  I'm  so 
glad  I  have  come  here,  instead  of  going  to  him — I  hope  you 
will  have  the  ball  soon — guess  how  many  quadrilles  I  danced 
once  ]" 

"  Nine  ;"  answered  Maria. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  twenty-four]"  cried  he,  triumphantly, 
"and  wasn't  a  bit  tired  afterwards." 

"  Bless  me  !  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing:"  said  Maria, 
looking  astonished,  "  I  declare  I  think  you  must  be  jesting, 
Mr.  Barham." 

"  Oh  no  ;  quite  serious,  I  assure  you,  so  you  see,  I  shall  do 
capitally  in  Ireland,  sham  I]  you  must  know  I  fancy  myself 
quite  an  Irishman  already.  I  asked  Pat  Murphy  and  Mr.  Mol- 
ly, if  they  did  not  think  so,  and  they  said  they  did.  Would  you 
believe,  that  I  know  all  your  servants'  names  already]  such 
funny  names  !  they  made  me  laugh  so.  When  1  go  back  to 
England,  1  intend  bringing  some  Irish  servants  with  me,  just 
to  make  me  laugh,  and  remind  me  of  the  pleasant  time  I  am 
spending  here." 

"  Please  God,"  thought  Maria,  "you  shall  take  something 
back  that  will  still  better  remind  you  of  "  the  pleasant  time  you 


74  CANVASSING. 

are  spending  here :"  she  added  aloud,  "is  this  the  only  pre 
vince  of  Ireland  that  you  have  visited  ]" 

"  Oh  no,  I  have  been  all  over  it.  I  have  been  to  the  Giant's 
Causeway,  such  a  funny  place  as  it  is — such  lots  of  rocks,  and 
thing-s  heaped  one  over  the  other — and  the  lakes  of  Killarney; 
I  saw  them  loo  ;  I  caught  some  trout  in  one  of  them,  and  broil- 
ed them  on  the  arbutus  myself — I  wouldn't  let  any  body  assist 
me — such  fun  as  I  had — I  fell  into  the  lake  and  was  nearly 
drowned,  but  the  guide  jumped  after  me  and  caught  me  just  as 
I  was  sinking,  it  was  very  good-natured  of  him,  wasn't  it? 
so  I  gave  him  twenty  pounds — he  deserved  that  I  am  sure,  and 
a  great  deal  more  for  saving  me — did  he  not,  Miss  WilmotV 

"  Indeed,  he  did,  treble  the  sum;"  responded  Maria,  with 
alacrity — "  you  paid  him,  however,  very  generously,  I  am  sure 
he  gave  you  abundance  of  blessings." 

"  Oh  yes,  such  a  lot  of  'em — he  told  me  I  was  some  King  or 
potentate  in  disguise  ;  and  when  I  told  him  I  was  only  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman,  travelling  about  just  for  a  lark — he  said  he 
wished  all  English  gentlemen  were  like  me — and  that  I  was  the 
truth  of  a  gentleman — fori  had  the  purse  of  an  Englishman, 
and  the  heart  of  an  Irishman.  Wan't  that  a  compliment,  Miss 
Wilmotr' 

Before  Miss  Wilmot  had  time  to  answer,  he  ran  on,  "You 
can't  imagine  how  surprised  I  was  when  I  felt  myself  in  the 
water.  I  had  not  been  thinking  of  anything  particular,  you 
know — ^just  sailing  about  to  see  the  lions  of  the  place;  and  I 
got  tired  looking  at  them  at  last;  and  so  leaned  b^ick  just  to 
take  a  snooze  for  a  minute  or  two ;  when  pop,  I  fell  overboard  ! 
that  was  my  first  adventure  on  coming  to  Ireland  ;  and  my  se- 
cond was,  when  I  fell  into  the  bog-hole,  here — I  hope  I  shall 
have  some  more — I  wonder  what  my  third  will  be,  what  do 
you  think.  Miss  Wilmot?" 

"To  be  married  to  ine,  I  hope;"  thought  Maria. 

"  Do  guess,  Miss  Wilmot,  do;"  urged  Mr.  Barham. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Maria,  "  it  may  be  to  fight  a  duel." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  he  exclaimed  eagerly — "I  should 
like  that  of  all  things — a  duel  in  Ireland  !  what  capital  fun 
'tvi'ould  be !  so  Irish  I  I  should  have  such  laughing  with  my 
T;hums  at  King's  wMien  I  go  back  to  Cambridge,  about  my 
Irish  duel !  they  will  call  me  Paddy  Barham  ;  don't  you  think 
they  will,  Miss  Wilmot? — I  hope  they  will — I  would  give  any 
thing  to  be  called  Paddy  Barbara." 

"But  sometimes,"  said  Maria,  "people  are  killed  in  Irish 


CANVASSING.  75 

duels;  men  shoot,  as  well  as  laugh,  unfortunately,  in  this  merry, 
murderous  country  of  ours." 

"  J  should  not  like  to  be  killed  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Barham, 
looking-  rather  put  out  ;  — "  I  should  hate  to  die  ; — I  havn't  had 
much  fun  yet;  such  a  tiresome  stoopid  thing  as  it  is  to  be 
dead!" 

Mr.  Barham  paused  a  few  moments,  struck  with  the  possi- 
bility of  so  funny  a  thing  as  an  Irish  duel  terminating  in  so 
stoopid  a  thing  as  death. 

"But,  after  all.  Miss  Wilmot,"  said  he,  resuming  his  usual 
expression  of  inexpressiveness,  "after  all,  very  few  persons 
arc  killed  in  duels,  they  are  only  wounded  mostly. — Now,  you 
must  know,  I  should  not  mind  being  wounded  at  all,  \\  hen  I 
was  at  Eton,  my  master  (the  boy  I  was  fag  to,  you  know)  used 
to  promise  me  a  guinea  for  every  pin  I  should  stick  into  my 
hand  in  half-an-hour — guess  how  many  I  got  at  once." 

"Six,  perhaps,"  said  Maria. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  two  dozen  ! — so,  you  see  I  should  not 
mind  a  little  pain  for  fun. — But  I  should  have  a  great  objection 
to  being  killed — shouldn't  you  ]  •  Oh  !  Miss  Wilmot,  will  you 
have  the  kindness  to  play  me  an  Irish  jig  1  Mr.  Molly  says 
you  play  so  well  !" 

"  Heaven  be  praised,"  said  Maria  to  herself,  as  she  moved 
toward  the  piano — "he  will  now  hold  his  tongue  for  a  few 
minutes,  at  any  rate  ;  how  thankful  I  am  he  did  not  take  it 
into  his  head  to  ask  me  for  an  Irish  story  !" 

"What  a  funny  tune!"  exclaimed  Mr,  Barham,  enchanted — 
"How  well  you  do  play  ! — Oh,  ]\Iiss  Wilmot,  will  you  do  me 
a  still  greater  favour? — Will  you  dance  the  jig  now  you  have 
played  it  for  me] — I  want  so  to  learn  jigs, — else  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  dance  at  your  ball,  you  know  V 

"Why.  you  don't  suppose  we  shall  dance  jigs,  do  you?" 
said  Maria,  laughing. 

"  I  always  thought,"  replied  Mr.  Barham,  laughing  too,  as 
he  invariably  did  when  1  e  saw  any  body  else  laugh,  even  though 
it  might  be,  as  in  the  present  instance,  at  himself, — I  always 
thought  the  jig  was  the  National  dance  of  Ireland." 

"Among  the  peasantry,"  observed  Maria. 

"Well,  what  then  will  you  dance  1"  inquired  Mr.  Barham. 

"Quadrilles  and  waltzes." 

"  Quadrilles  and  waltzes!"  he  repeated  in  a  tone  of  disap- 
pointment— "  Psha  ! — I'm  tired  of  them  ,-  tiresome,  stoopid 
things  ! — I'm  so  sorry  !  I  made  sure  of  such  fun  !  Why,  I  might 


76  CANVASSING. 

as  well  be  in  England,  if  you  dance  nothing  but  quadrilles  and 
waltzes  ! — To  be  in  Ireland,  and  not  dance  jigs — how  tiresonne! 
I  have  been  three  weeks  in  Ireland,  and  I  have  not  seen  a  jig 
danf'ed  yet !" 

"  Have  you  not,  really? — I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you  at 
the  ball,  then  ;  but  1  can't  promise.  To  lell  you  the  truth,  I'm 
afraid  all  our  rank  and  fashion  will  go  into  fits  at  the  notion  of 
such  a  thing  as  jigs  any  where  but  in  a  poor  man's  cabin,  or  a 
gentleman's  kitchen.  But  at  any  rate,  you  can  both  dance  and 
see  them  danced,  to  your  heart's  content,  if  you  don't  mind 
going  into  the  servant's  hall — I'll  send  for  Paddy  the  piper, 
directly,  if  you  like,  for  this  evening," 

"  Oh  thank  you  !  thank  you  !  dear  Miss  Wilrnot!"  his  eyes 
already  jig-dancing  with  delight,  as  he  exclaimed, — "A  piper! 
a  real  Irish  piper  !  oh,  what  capital  fun  !  an  Irish  piper! — and 
Lish  servants  dancing  Irish  jigs! — 1  would  not  have  missed 
coming  to  Ireland  for  a  thousand  pounds!  I  wouldn't,  I  de- 
clare !" 

*'Nor  would  I  have  had  you  miss  it  for  double  the  sum!" 
said  Maria  to  herself. 

Just  at  this  moment,  a  little  bare-legged,  red-headed  boy, 
peeped  in,  and  having  surveyed  the  room,  was  preparing  to 
withdraw  again,  exclaimed,  "She  isn't  in  it;"  when  he  was 
stopped  by  Maria. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for,  Michelleen  1" 

*'  Lookin'  every  place  for  my  lady,  I  am,  Miss ;  an'  can't 
find  her." 

*'  Why — what  do  you  want  of  her,  Michelleen  ?" 

"  The  masther,  Miss,  that  sent  me  for  her." 

"  So,  m\'  father  is  returned,  is  he  T"  said  Isabel,  hastily 
throwing  aside  the  book  she  had  taken  up  on  Mr.  Barham's 
entrance — "I  did  not  expect  hijTi  back  so  soon  !" — which  ob- 
servation, had  it  been  the  faithful  transcript  of  her  thoughts, 
would  have  run  thus — "  So,  Lord  Warringdon  is  returned.  I 
did  not  expect  him  back  so  soon  !"  "  Where  is  my  father, 
Michelleen?" 

"  Below,  in  the  kitchen.  Miss." 

"  What  is  he  doing  there  ]" 

"Seeing  afther  the  English  Lord — mysel'  never  can't  re- 
mimber  the  name  he  has  on  him,  Miss." 

"  Seeing  after  him,"  repeated  Isabel — "  how  do  you  mean  1" 

*'  Oh,  nothing  very  pertickler,  Miss,  only  a  fall  he  got  from 
his  horse." 


CANVASSING.  77 

"  Good  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  Isabel,  hastily — "  Is  he  hurt! 
Michelleen,  can't  you  answer]" 

"  Troth  !  I  don't  know,  Miss  ;  but  I  dare  say  he  is — Paudeen 
tould  me  he  heerd  Mistlier  Kelly  telling  Tom  Landnigan,  Mis- 
ther  McAlpine's  man,  that  Pat  Murphy  said  'twas  Mrs.  McDo- 
nough's  opinion  he'd  never  ate  a  bit  again." 

"  Nonsense,  Michelleen,"  interrupted  Maria,  perceiving 
Isabel  grow  deadly  pale, — "  What  rigmarole  story  have  you 
got  at  there  ] — unhat  does  Mrs.  McDonough  know  about  the 
matter]" 

"  Facks,  I  don't  know,  Miss,  but  every  one  in  the  counthry 
does  be  sayin'  Mrs.  McDonough  is  mighty  knowledgeable  in 
regard  of  physics  an'  cures — How  well  she  said,  whin  Barny 
Sullivan's  horse  was  clifted  and  smashed  intirely,  that  he^d 
river  ate  a  bit  agin,  INIiss  V 

"  Yes — but  Lord  Warringdon  has  not  been  clifted  nor  smashed 
intirely,  like  Barny  Sullivan's  horse  !  so  Mrs.  McDonough  may 
be  wrong  after  all,  Michelleen.  But,  pray,  why  didn't  you 
say  at  once  that  he  was  hurt  V 

"Sure  the  masther  didn't  bid  me,  Miss,  tell  any  body  but  my 
Lady." 

"The  master  didn't  bid  you,  Michelleen!"  cried  Maria — 
■"  Couldn't  your  own  sense  tell  you  that  much,  child?  So,  I 
suppose  if  the  master  happened  to  fall  from  his  own  horse,  and 
wasn't  able  to  speak,  5'^ou  wouldn't  tell  any  body,  because,  in- 
deed, he  didn't  bid  you  ]" 

"  Hubbaboo  I  I'd  riz  the  counthry,  let  alone  the  house,  if 
the  masther  hurled  his  little  finger;  not  to  talk  of  breaking  his 
bones,  God  betixt  us  an'  harum,"  cried  little  Michelleen, 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Why,  then,  didn't  you  tell  us  that  Lord  Warringdon  got  the 
fall  ]"  inquired  Maria. 

"  Sure,  Miss,  I  didn't  think  it  signified,  in  regard  of  his  bein' 
a  foreigner,  an' — " 

"Didn't  think  it  signified]"  cried  Isabel,  indignantly — 
"  W'hat  an  ill-natured  little  creature  you  must  be  !" 

Michelleen  hung  his  head,  and  scraped  the  floor  with  the 
largest  digit  of  his  not  very  clean  little  foot.  Mr.  Barham  was 
so  busy,  watching  the  little  Irish  boy  shifting  from  one  bare 
mottled  leg  to  another,  scratching  his  head  and  scraping  the 
floor,  while  undergoing  this  interrogatory,  that  he  never  ob- 
served how  much  more  important  a  circumstance  Miss  Isabella 
Wilmot  seemed  to  consider  Lord  Warrinsfdon's  havino-  fallen 
1*  ^ 


78  CANVASSING. 

from  his  horse,  and  •'  never  likely  to  ate  a  bit  again,"  than 
Michelleen  thought  it. 

*'  Come,  Isabel,  love,"  said  Maria,  "let  as  go  and  see  how 
the  case  really  stands." 

Michelleen,  in  hio-h  glee  at  escaping  any  further  examination 
from  the  young  ladies,  scampered  off  to  ascertain,  for  his  own 
satisfaction,  whether  "  the  English  Lord  was  only  kilt,  or  actu- 
ally kilt  dead  ;"  and  Mr.  Barham  scampered  off  after  Michelleen. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Isabel,"  said  Maria,  as  she  felt  her 
sister's  hand  tremble  on  her  arm — "you  may  be  certain  it  is 
nothing  very  serious,  or  my  father  would  have  sent  no  message 
by  that  stupid,  blundering  Michelleen." 

Her  supposition  proved  correct.  They  found  Lord  Warring- 
don  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  idlers,  talking  to  Mr. 
W  ilmot,  who  was  inspecting  the  letter-bag,  just  arrived  via 
Andy  Mr.  Donogh,  surnamed  Andy  the  Post.  The  viscount 
looked  a  little  paler  than  usual,  and  his  arm  was  in  a  sling; 
otherwise,  he  did  not  appear  by  any  means  in  a  state  to  justify 
the  ominous  prediction  of  Mrs.  McDonogh,  as  detailed  by 
Michelleen  on  Paudeen's  authority,  which  prediction  really  ran 
thus: 

*'  'Tis  well  he  was  not  hurted  so  he'd  never  ate  a  bit  again — 
for  there's  many  a  one  lost  his  life  upon  a  smaller  provication." 

"  I'm  glad  to  find  you  still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  my  lord, 
and  likely  to  continue  there;"  said  Maria — "  Michelleen  all  but 
buried  you." 

"  Oh,  'tis  a  mere  trifle — "  returned  Lord  Warringdon,  smil- 
ing, "  a  sprained  wrist,  only — fortunately,  the  accident  occurred 
close  to  the  dispensary,  so  the  injury  was  promptly  remedied." 

"  1  hope  you  do  not  suffer  much  pain  ]"  said  Isabel,  who  had 
beg-un  to  recover  her  self-possession.  The  tone  and  look  by 
which  these  simple  words  were  accompanied  left  no  doubt  on 
the  mind  of  the  person  to  whom  they  were  addressed  of  the  sin- 
cerity with  which  they  were  uttered — confirmed  too  as  they 
were  by  the  agitation  he  had  remarked  on  her  first  entering  the 
kitchen.   What  man  ever  fails  to  notice  the  interest  he  inspires? 

"Here  are  letters  for  you,  my  lord !"  said  Mr.  Wilmot. 

The  party  were  leaving  the  kitchen  when  Barham  called  after 
Maria : 

"  Oh — Miss  Wilmot,  you  are  forgetting  the  Piper." 

"  Perhaps,  as  Lord  Warringdon  has  met  this  accident,"  re- 
plied Maria,  "  it  might  be  as  well  to  defer  it  till  another  even- 
ing— the  noise  might  be  disagreeable  to  him." 


CANVASSING. 

"  Oh  no — I  heg  you  don't  alter  your  arranfrcraents  on  my  ac- 
count— the  pain  is  very  trifling-,  and  the  Piper  will  serve  rather 
to  amuse  than  annoy  me." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Lord  Warringdon  :"  exclaimed  Bar- 
ham,  delighted,  "  I  assure  you  a  little  fun  is  the  best  cure  in 
the  world  for  pain  of  any  kind  :"  and,  so  saying,  off  he  gallop- 
ed in  search  of  a  messenger,  to  carry  Maria's  mandate  to  Paddy 
Bacha^  commanding  his  attendance  that  evening. 


80  CANVASSING. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


"  Ha  I"  exclaimed  Lord  WarrinCTdon,  as  he  cast  his  eye  over 
the  letter  just  handed  him  by  Mr.  Wilmot,  "My  father  tells  me 
that  parliament  is  to  be  dissolved  immediately.  What  shall  I 
do  ]  this  unlucky  sprain  will  prevent  my  holding  a  pen,  and  yet 
I  ought  not  to  lose  a  moment  in  addressing  the  county.  Is  there 
any  one  here  who  would  have  the  charity  to  lend  me  a  hand, 
while  I  dictate  ?"  said  he,  looking  round  on  the  group. 

"  You  shall  have  Isabel,"  said  Lady  Anne  good-humouredly. 
"She  is  always  her  father's  secretary;  and,  as  he  happens  to 
be  very  lazy,  he  does  not  allow  her  pen  much  rest,  I  assure 
you  ;  and,  thanks  to  such  good  practice,  she  has  become  quite 
aufait^ — a  capital  electioneering  address-writing  young  lady, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  so  here  she  is,  at  your  service.  You  have  no 
objection,  have  you,  my  love  ]"  she  added,  in  a  stage-whisper, 
to  her  daughter,  while  she  settled  one  of  her  pretty,  soft  curls. 
"  I'll  explain  to  McAlpine,  you  know,  and,  I  dare  say,  he 
will  forgive  my  disposing  of  you  for  this  morning;  so  politics 
and  business  to-day, — love  and  Byron  to-morrow,"  she  conti- 
nued, smiling  archly.  "Well,  good  people,  I  will  no  longer 
disturb  you.  Come,  my  dear  Wilmot,  you  and  I  are  de  troji^ 
here  ; — au  rcvoiry  She  nodded  good-humouredly,  and  left  the 
room. 

"  I  have  many  apologies  to  make  to  you,"  said  Lord  Warring- 
don,  for  having  so  unceremoniously  accepted  Lady  Anne's  offer 
of  your  assistance ;  particularly,"  added  he,  smiling  sarcasti- 
cally, "  as  I  understand  you  have  made  other  arrangements  for 
the  day." 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  any  engagement  that  I  would  not  will- 
ingly have  given  up,  to  be  of  service  to  you,"  replied  Isabel, 
in  a  faltering  tone ;  but,  fearing  she  had  said  too  much,  she 
added,  blushing,  "  or,  indeed,  to  any  person,  under  the  same 
circumstances." 


CANVASSING.  81 

"Thank  you  for  that  flatterina  qualification,"  rejoined  the 
viscount,  laughing,  and  contemplating  his  fair  secretary  with 
all  the  self-complacency  of  a  gratified,  vain  man. 

"  Is  your  arm  comfortable  now  V  she  asked,  anxious  to  es- 
cape from  his  scrutinizing  look.  "I  fancy  the  sling  is  rather 
high;— shall  I  lower  it?" 

Her  companion  felt  more  than  half  inclined  to  have  answered 
the  question  by  touching  with  his  lips  the  pretty  little  trem- 
bling hand  of  the  fair  querist ;  had  she  been  married,  in  all  pro- 
bability he  would  have  done  so;  but,  in  these  days,  to  kiss  a 
single  woman's  hand,  is  tantamount  to  a  declaration.  And  so 
the  admiring,  but  prudent  visrount,  contented  himself  with 
thanking  her,  in  words,  for  her  kindness.  "  ^he  is  a  nice  crea- 
ture," thought  he;  "  what  a  pity  she  has  not  money!" 

For  an  hour  or  two,  the  young  politicians  continued  im- 
mersed in  Ixisiness.  Cut,  as  everything  must  have  an  end,  the 
address  was,  at  lengtli,  composed  and  copied  out.  The  viscount 
found  himself  assisted  by  Isabel,  not  only  in  the  manual  execu- 
tion, but  also  in  the  composition  of  the  document;  yet,  her  as- 
sistance had  been  given  with  so  much  tact,  that  she  appeared 
rather  to  have  quickly  seized,  and  skilfully  embodied  his  ideas, 
than  to  h  ive  suggested  any  of  her  own  ;  so  that  he  himself 
seemed  even  to  deserve  the  whole  credit  of  the  performance. 
Never  before,  indeed,  had  he  been  able  to  clothe  his  thoughts 
in  such  neat  and  close  expressions  ;  his  self-love  was,  therefore, 
gratified  ;  and  being  in  good  humour  with  himself,  he  was  na- 
turally so  with  the  person  who  had  proved  instrumental  in  pro- 
ducing this  self-complacency. 

For  some  time  previous  to  this  morning,  Lord  Warringdon 
had  been  tiring  of  being  nothing  but  an  Epouvavl  ail  des  Maris^ 
and  had  desired  to  play  a  role  in  public  life.  But,  unfortunately, 
he  was  blessed  with  more  pretension  than  application;  and  he 
had  often  wished  to  possess  and  to  have  constantly  near  him 
some  person  capable  of  supplying  his  want  of  energy,  but  who 
would,  meantime,  be  satisfied  to  allow  him  all  the  credit  due  to 
success  and  its  results,  not  only  from  society,  but  from  his  very 
self.  He  was  aware,  however,  that  such  devoted ncss  could  be 
expected  from  a  woman  only,  from  a  wife,  in  fact:  and  where 
could  he  find  a  woman  uniting  the  ability  and  the  affection  ne- 
cessary for  such  an  office  1  In  fact,  for  more  than  a  year  he 
had  been  asking  himself  this  question,  and  in  the  course  of  this 
morning  it  at  length  occurred  to  him  that  Isabel  Wilmot  was 
an  answer  to  it.     As  for  Isabel,  her  care  of  the  amour  propre  of 


82  CANVASSING. 

her  companion  had  been  prompted  simply  by  affection; — by  the 
unwilled,  but  unerrinor  skill  of  the  heart;  yet.  had  she  acted 
from  prudence  and  calculation,  she  could  not  have  devised  a 
better  plan  for  advancing  her  interests.  For,  in  these  days  of 
Utilitarianism,  when  every  generous  impulse  is  arrested  by  a 
"CU2  io/20,"  the  woman  who  succeeds  in  impressing  a  man  with 
the  notion  that  she  can  be  useful  to  him  has  presented  to  his 
mind  an  argumentum  at  hotiiinem,  that,  sooner  or  later,  will 
work  to  her  advantage,  nay,  help  to  get  her  a  husband. 

A  characteristic  of  genius  is,  not  that  it  can  exactly  create 
circumstances,  but  that  it  knows  how  to  emplo)"  them.  Lady 
Anne  could  not  have  made  her  husband's  Arab  take  fright  at  an 
old  woman,  and  throw  its  rider,  upon  that  day,  more  than  upon 
any  other;  still  less  could  she  have  ensured  to  the  said  young 
rider  a  sprained  wrist,  instead  of  a  broken  neck  or  leg.  Neither 
could  Lady  Anne  have  influenced  his  Britannic  Majesty  to  dis- 
solve his  faithful  Lords  and  Commons,  just  at  this  lime,  for  the 
purpose  of  sr/nchro?iizing  with  the  viscount's  tumble  off  his  ex- 
Otic  horse.  Still,  however,  was  Lady  Anne  able  to  turn  these 
events  to  good  account.  Her  ladyship's  previous  manoeuvring 
had  so  completely  mystified  her  young  guest  that  he  never  sus- 
pected her  of  any  motive,  but  that  of  good  nature,  in  her  selec- 
tion of  Isabel  for  his  amanuensis. 

When  Lady  Anne  returned,  she  found  the  young  pair  seated, 
side  by  side,  chatting  over  the  fire.  Lord  Warringdon's  arm  on 
the  back  of  Isabel's  chair,  quite  lover-like. 

"  Fie!  fie  !  there  you  are  talking,  you  idle  creatures,  instead 
of  writing;  it  should  have  been  business  first,  and  play  after- 
wards, as  we  say  to  the  children  !  Oh,  you  naughty  two  !" 
said  she,  playfully  tapping  her  daughter's  cheek,  and  Lord 
Warringdon's  shoulder. 

"  Thus  do  I  disprove  your  foul  calumny,"  replied  he,  in  the 
same  tone,  holding  up  his  address. 

"  No  !  have  you  really  finished  it?  how  quick  you  have  been, 
— admirable!"  cried  she;  "nothing  can  be  better; — so  dexter- 
ously composed  ; — no  one  interest  sacrificed  to  that  of  another; 
those  who  wish  that  sinecures  should  be  kept,  because  they 
have  a  chance  of  getting  them ;  and  those  who  wish  to  have 
them  abolished,  because  they  never  expect ^to  profit  by  them  ; — 
those  who  want  the  National  debt  taken  off,  and  those  who 
would  like  to  increase  the  pension  list:  those  who  cry  out  for 
Catholic  emancipation,  and  those  who  insist  on  keeping  up  the 
Protestant  ascendancy;  each  and  all  may  claim  Warringdon  as 


CANVASSING.  83 

their  champion.  Yes;  the  gradations  of  form  and  colour  are 
skilfully  managed,  indeed,  in  this  piece  of  political  Mosaic! 
Bravo,  my  lord!  How  clever  that  girl  is!"  said  she  to  her- 
self; then,  turning  to  her  daughter,  "  What  a  capital  diploma- 
tist this  member  of  ours  will  make ;  here  is  finesse  enough  for 
an  European  empire  wasted  on  an  Irish  county  !" 

Lady  Anne  was  aware  that  the  great  object  of  Lord  War- 
ringdon's  ambition,  for  some  time,  had  been  to  figure  as  a  cabi- 
net minister,     Now  she  saw  him  smile,  highly  gratified. 

*'  I  am  very  much  flattered  that  you  approve  it;  but  recollect 
that  I  had  an  invaluable  assistant  in  your  fair  daughter,"  he  po- 
litely added. 

"  Oh,  as  for  my  poor  Isabel,"  replied  the  mother,  kissing  her 
daughter's  snowy  forehead,  "I  don't  imagine  that  she  could 
have  been  of  any  service  to  you. — No,  you  are  not  quite  diplo' 
mate  enough  to  persuade  me  you  think  that."  Then,  lowering 
her  voice  as  she  addressed  her  daughter,  "  McAlpine  is  in  the 
next  room  ;  you  may  now  go  and  chat  with  him,  love,  for  he  is 
quite  moping  and  miserable  without  you." 

Lady  Anne  perceived,  with  much  satisfaction,  that  Lord 
Warringdon's  eyes  followed  Isabel,  as  she  moved  reluctantly 
out  of  the  room  ;  and  when  the  door  closed  on  her  graceful 
figure,  and  when  he  turned  round  to  look  at  the  fire,  that  he  ap- 
peared in  a  very  bad  humour. 

"  Poor  McAlpine,"  said  she  laughing,  "  has  been  quite  like 
a  fish  out  of  water,  all  day.  My  heart  smites  me  for  having 
taken  Isabel  away  from  him  :  but  he's  so  good  humoured  about 
it,  poor  fellow  ; — the  most  amiable  being  in  the  world,." 

Lord  Warringdon  brushed  up  his  dark  curls,  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  with  all  the  nonchalance  of  an  exclusive,  listening 
to  an  irksome  subject. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  son-in-law  elect!"  said  she,  after 
a  pause. 

"  Candidly  ]"  inquired  he,  with  affected  indifference. 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,"  replied  she. 

"Candidly,  then,  I  think  him  a  devilish  ill-lookino-,  stupid 
fellow." 

"I  don't  at  all  agree  with  you  my  lord,"  said  she,  with  well- 
acted  warmth  ;  "  he  is  the  reverse  of  stupid,  he  possesses  con- 
siderable talent;  and,  as  for  looks,  men  never  judge  fairly  of 
one  another,  there  ; — heis  quite  as  well  to  be  liked  al  the  gene- 
rality of  people,"  glancing  somewhat  offensively  at  her  'com- 
panion. 

The  corners  of  his  lordship's  handsome  mouth  curled  into  an 
expression  of  quiet  disdain.     "  My  dear  Lady  Anne,  recollect  I 


84  CANVASSING. 

did    not    obtrude  my    opinion   of  Mr.   McAlpine, — you  rather 
pressed  me  tor  it." 

Lady  Anne  shook  her  foot  a  few  seconds,  a  gesture  Lord 
Warringdon  had  remarked  in  her  as  indicative  of  displeasure; 
he  hummed  an  opera  air.  "I  should  be  very  much  obliored  to 
you,  my  Lord,"  she  continued,  "not  to  be  as  candid  with  my 
dauo;hter  as  you  have  been  with  myself,  in  your  criticisms  upon 
a  person  about  to  become  a  member  of  my  family.  Girls  are 
foolish  and  romantic,  and  imagine  they  must  be  passionately 
attached  to  a  man  in  order  to  marry  him  ;  and  I,  therefore,  make 
it  a  personal  request  that  you,  in  future,  keep  your  opinion  of 
Mr.  McAlpine  to  yourself.  It  might  do  Isabel  irreparable  in- 
jury, by  setting  her  against  him." 

"Setting  her  against  Mr.  McAlpine!"  repealed  he,  sarcasti- 
cally ;  "  how  could  that  be  possible  T  I  understood  you  to  say 
he  was  quite  the  beait  ideal  of  your  imagination,  tlie  quintes- 
sence of  all  perfection,  moral  and  physical." 

"Allow  me  to  set  you  right,  my  lord,"  replied  she,  with 
much  offended  dignity  ;  "  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  ^Ir.  McAl- 
pine is  not  a  Colonel  C.  in  beauty,  nor  a  Lord  L.  G.  in  talent; 
all  I  said  was,  that  he  had  as  much  of  both  as  people  in  gene- 
ral," laying  emphasis  on  the  last  words.  "  And  I  add  this,  that 
he  is  a  most  excellent,  kind-hearted,  high-principled,  honoura- 
ble young  man,  passionately  attached  to  my  daughter,  who  be- 
gins, at  length,  to  appreciate  his  merit,  and  to  see  that  she  has 
a  much  better  chance  of  happiness  with  him  than  with  a  beauty, 
a  genius,  or  a  man  of  fashion. 

"  Cest  possible,''^  replied  his  lordship,  with  an  indidiffer- 
ence  intended  to  be  provoking;  *^  Moi  j'e  ne  dispute  Jamais, 
surtout  avec  les  dames, — will  you  permit  me  to  touch  the  bell  for 
my  servant?  'tis  time  to  dress  for  dinner." 

Lady  Anne  bowed  stiffly,  and  Lord  Warringdon  determined 
to  inform  Isabel,  the  very  first  opportunity,  of  his  opinion  con- 
cerning Mr.  McAlpine,  should  slie,  indeed,  happen  to  be  igno- 
rant of  it. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Wil- 
mot  and  Mi.ria,  followed  by  xMr.  Barham,  laughing  as  usual, 
"ready  to  die." 

As  soon  as  she  thought  that  she  might  resume  her  usual 
blandness  towards  the  Viscount,  she  turned  to  her  husband  ; — 
"  You  have  not  seen  Lord  Warringdon's.address  yet,  I  believe; 
— 'tis  really  admirable." 

'*  Oh,  I  recognize  Isabel's  touches  here,"  said  the  careless, 
undesigning  father,  pleased  at  this  additional  evidence  of  his 
daughter's  talents. 


CANVASSING.  85 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Anne,  rising  and  touching  her  husband's 
shoulder,  as  she  leaned  over  him;  ''You  know  Lord  VVarringdon 
sprained  his  wrist,  and  could  not  write  ;  so  it  is  in  Isabel's 
hand-writing;  but  that  does  not  signify." 

"Oh,  no,  to  be  sure,"  rejoined  Wilmot,  understanding  his 
wife's  liint; — "'Tis  excellent,  my  dear  Lord, — cannot  possibly 
be  better:  here,  Maria,  have  you  seen  it  1" 

*'  What  is  it  all  about  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Barham,  struck  by  the 
admiration  which  this  sheet  of  paper  excited,  as  it  passed  from 
hand  to  hand; — "Is  it  a  hoax  Lord  Warringdon  has  been 
writing,  Miss  Wilmot  T" 

"  Why,  really,  'tis  very  much  the  same  thing,"  replied  she, 
laughing;  "'tis  an  address  to  the  county." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ? — something  political  only,"  said  he,  in  a 
tone  of  disappointment.  "I  wonder  that  people  ever  trouble 
themselves  about  politics,  stoopid  things!" 

About  two  hours  after  dinner,  the  door  opened,  and  Pat  Mur- 
phy entered,  smiling. 

"Is  he  come?"  cried  Barham. 

"He is,  sir." 

*'0h,  Miss  Wilmot,  he's  come:  good  news.  Lord  Warring- 
don, he's  come."  And  away  he  flew,  clapping  his  hands,  fol- 
lowed by  Maria. 

"What  in  the  world's  the  matter  with  him  T"  cried  Mr. 
McAlpine  ;  "  who  is  it  that's  come  1" 

"No  less  a  personage  than  Paddy  jBowc^a,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
mot, laughing. 

"Ra'ally,  I'm  astonished  at  your  patience.  Lady  Anne,  with 
such  a  silly,  uninteresting  crature  as  he  is :  I  am  ra'ally  ex- 
thramely  annoyed  that  I  have  been  the  manes  of  inflicting  him 
on  you." 

"  Pray  don't  say  a  word  about  it,  my  dear  friend,"  replied 
Lady  Anne,  with  one  of  her  most  gracious  smiles.  "Any 
guest  of  yours  would  be  welcome  here." 

"Unfortunately,"  resumed  Mr.  McAlpine,  "I  could  not  take 
him  away  without  going  myself;  and  how  could  I  do  thatl 
how  could  I,"  he  added,  whispering  tenderly  to  Isabel,  who 
was  seated  between  him  and  the  Viscount,  "  how  could  I  have 
the  courage  to  tear  myself  from  her  I  adore, — from  the  idol  of 
my  soul, — the  soft  star  of  my  destiny  1  What  would  my  fair 
charmer  have  said,  in  that  case,  of  her  truant  knight  !" 

"1  was  just  going  to  ask  you  to  accompany  me  to  the  revels, 
below,"  said  Lord  Warringdon." 


86  CANVASSING. 

*'And  why  notl"  replied  Isabel,  eagerly;  "I  am  quite 
ready." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  must  not  take  you  away  a  second  time,  from  '  love 
and  Byron,'  said  he,  glancing  alternately  at  Mr.  McAlpine  and 
Lady  Anne.  "  Your  mamma  and  I  have  had  a  battle  royal,  to- 
day, about  the  '  beau  fufit?;^  and  she  has  commanded  me,  on 
pain  of  her  imperial  displeasure,  never  to  say,  or  even  to  think, 
that  Byron  could  have  a  fitter  interpreter,  or  Love  a  more  elo- 
quent or  persuasive  votary;  and,  moreover,  that  it  must  be 
felony,  without  benefit  of  clergy,  to  let  you  suppose  that  I,  or 
any  body  else,  could  ever  imagine  greater  perfection.  I  never 
saw  a  woman  so  much  in  love  witii  her  daughter's  lover  in  all 
my  life  ;  more  than  you  yourself,  I  think,  la  belle  Fiancee." 

"You  have  chosen  a  disagreeable  subject,  my  Lord,"  said 
she,  colouring  ;  "  I  should  be  obliged  by  your  changing  it." 

"  Your  wishes  are  laws  to  me,  my  fair  secretary,"  said  he, 
bowing  with  mock  deference ;  "  never  again  will  I  say  aught 
to  disturb  your  equanimity ; — am  I  forgiven  1  and  will  you  take 
my  arm,  and  accompany  me  to  where  they  are  'tripping  on  the 
light  fantastic  toe,'  as  the  Morning  Post  has  it  V 

Isabel  smiled  forgiveness,  and  they  quitted  the  room  to- 
gether. 


CHAPTER  X. 


When  Lord  Warringdon  and  Isabel  entered  the  servants' 
hall,  they  were  received  with  the  same  manifestations  of  joy 
which  had  greeted  Maria  and  Mr.  Barham.  The  huzzaing  and 
clapping  of  hands  was,  indeed,  excessively  gratifying ;  but  it 
was  also  excessively  deafening ;  inasmuch  as  every  member 
of  the  Castle  Wilmot  household,  reinforced  by  travellers  "go- 
ing the  road,"  who  had  lounged  in  for  their  dinner,  and  the 
idlers  of  the  neighbourhood,  who  had  been  attracted  by  the 
piper,  contributed,  each  and  all,  their  utmost  strength  of  palms 
and  lungs,  to  do  honour  to  the  "  quality."  The  acclamations 
for  the  last  come  couple  even  surpassed,  perhaps,  those  which 
had  welcomed  the  first — for  in  addition  to  the  company  already 


CANVASSING.  87 

alluded  to,  great  numbers  of  the  McAlpine  tenants  (who  had 
strayed  over  to  Castle  Wilmot  to  see  their  master,  in  conse- 
quence of  some  one  of  the  multitudinous  occurrences  which  an 
Irish  tenant  is  perpetually  in  the  habit  of  referring  to  his  land- 
lord,) were  present;  and  they,  looking  upon  Miss  Isabel  Wil- 
mot, as  their  master's  property,  received  her  with  all  the  respect 
and  warmth  due  to  their  future  mistress  ;  crying  out,  "  High 
for  Miss  Isabel  Wilmot!  high  for  Masther  McAlpine!"  a 
couple  already  occupied  "  the  flure," — viz.,  Peggy  the  pretty 
laundry-maid,  and  JimNaughton,  of  sa^js-pole-driving  memory, 
who  had  "stepped  in  with  his  horses,"  on  his  way  homewards 
to  Masther  Costelloe,from  some  break-neck  excursion.  Peggy 
acknowledged  the  entrance  of  "  the  quality,"  by  a  curtsey, 
as  she  sidled  along  in  her  dance,  and  kept  her  eyes  modestly 
bent  on  the  ground,  never  by  any  chance  raising  them  to  the 
face  of  her  partner.  Jim,  on  his  part,  evinced  his  sense  of  their 
presence,  by  whirling  his  hand  round  his  head,  and  jumping 
more  vigorously  than  he  had  done  before,  and  cutting  five  or 
six  times  in  the  air. 

*'The  lower  orders  of  England,"  observed  Isabel  to  Lord 
Warringdon,  "suspend  their  merriment  either  from  respect,  or 
shyness,  upon  the  appearance  of  tlieir  superiors ;  but  our  people, 
who  have  a  truer  sense  of  what  real  politeness  consists  in, 
laugh  and  dance  as  before,  rightly  inferring  that  their  masters 
and  mistresses  have  come  purposely  to  witness  their  pleasantry, 
and,  therefore,  that  respect  and  attention  are  best  evinced  by 
making  an  effort  to  amuse. 

Mr.  Barham  was  almost  in  convulsions  of  laughter  at  the 
"funny  piper,  and  the  funny  dancing." 

"  God  save  all  here;"  cried  a  voice  behind  him. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Molly,  is  that  you  1  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you — " 
said  he,  seizing  the  priest's  hands  and  nearly  wringing  them 
off — "  I  have  missed  you  so  much,  you  can't  think  !  I  was  just 
wondering  what  had  become  of  you! — What  capital  fun  this  is, 
Mr.  Molly  1" 

"  What  fun,  Mr.  Barbara  ]  myself  don't  see  any  fun,  where 
isitl" 

"Why  there;"  rejoined  Mr.  Barham,  pointing  to  the  dancers 
— "don't  you  see  the  droll  postilion  dancing?" 

"  A  what,  droll  postilion  ?  let's  thry  and  see  :"  cried  father 
John,  looking  over  Barbara's  shoulder.  "  Pooh — 'tis  nobody 
but  Jim  Naughton  dancing  the  way  he  always  does.  I  never 
seen  one  like  him,"  said  he,  turning  to  Maria,  "  for  seeing  fun, 


88  CANVASSING* 

where  nobody  else  but  himself  can  see  it.  /don't  see  anything 
so  mighty  comical  in  a  little  girl  and  boy  dancing  ;  one  would 
think  it  was  dancing  on  their  heads  they  were,  or  doing  some 
quare  trick  or  other  :  he  does  be  laughing  so;  them  English 
has  no  sinse  at  all,  Miss  Maria,  honey." 

"Perhaps,  we  should  laugh  as  heartily  as  he  does,  if  we 
saw  all  this  for  the  first  time,  father  John  :"  observed  Maria. 

"  May  be  so,  agra^  you  know  better  than  me." 

The  first  dance  ended,  and  punch  and  even  good  raw  whis- 
key, were  handed  about. 

The  priest  took  a  glass,  and,  holding  it  over  his  head — 
*'  Here's  to  the  health  of  the  young  ladies,  and  good  husbands 
to  them,  and  soon — hip,  hip,  hurrah  !" 

This  tost  was  received  with  huzzas  and  laughter,  interspersed 
with  cries  of  "  Amin — amin — long  life  to  'em,  the  darlins — aye, 
troth,  good  husbands  to  them,  and  soon^ — and  the  sooner  the 
betther!" 

"An'  now  the  gintleman's  healths:"  cried  a  voice  in  the 
crowd. 

"  Let  each  of  the  young  ladies  dhrink  the  health  of  the 
gintleman  that's  wid  her :"  this  amendment  was  welcomed  with 
cries  of,  "  success  to  ye  Jim — my  blessing  to  ye !" 

"  Very  well — "  said  Maria,  laughing  good  humouredly, 
"  here's  to  the  health  of  William  Barham,  Esq.,  of  Cralcourt, 
Leicestershire,  and  may  he  always  continue  as  fond  of  fun  and 
of  Ireland  as  he  is  at  this  present  moment — hip,  hip,  hurrah  !" 

"  Glory  to  ye  !  comical  crature  ye  are,  sure  enough  !"  ex- 
claimed the  laughing  and  applauding  crowd. 

"  Now,  Miss  Isabel !"  but  Miss  Isabel  hesitated — "  'tis  your 
turn  now,  agra ,-''''  said  Mrs.  McDonough — "why  don't  you 
take  patlhern  afther  your  sisther,  my  honey — do,  asthorema  cree^ 
or  else,"  continued  she,  lowering  her  voice,  "  the  tinants  will  be 
thinking 'tis  proud  ye  are — there's  my  darling:"- cried  she  tri- 
umphantly, as  Isabel  prepared  to  oblige  her — "I  knew  well  the 
delight  of  my  heart,  wouldn't  refuse  her  father's  ould  nurse." 

"Whisht!  whisht!  hould  your  bother — don't  you  see  she  is 
going  to  spake — don't  be  making  sich  a  noise  :"  roared  one  to 
another,  as  they  began  to  applaud  before  she  had  begun  to 
speak. 

Silence  was  at  length  obtained,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed  on 
Isabel  as  she  gave  her  toast — 

"  Here's  to  the  health  of  Lord  Warringdon,  and  may  he,  as 
our  representative,  ever  prove  the  friend  of  the  county,  and  of 


CANVASSING.  89 

Ireland  in  general,  and,"  she  added,  falteringly,  "live  long  and 
happily!" 

*'  And  a  pretty  Irish  wife  to  him  :"  added  Jim  Naughton — 
"Troth,  he  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse;"  glancing  at 
Isabel ;  and  the  cries  of  "  Success  to  ye  Jim  ! — high  for  Miss 
Isabel  !  high  for  her,  the  darling  purty,  quiet  little  cratur  !  and 
a  good  husband  to  her,  and  soon  !"  quite  confounded  the  poor 
girl. 

Lord  Warringdon  perceived  her  embarrassment,  and  bowing, 
and  smiling  his  thanks  for  the  honour  she  had  done  him,  took 
the  glass  from  her  trembling  hand. 

"To  the  health  of  Mr.  Wilmot  and  his  family  !"  said  he — 
"  my  best  wish  for  Ireland  is,  that  all  her  landlords  may  be 
like  him,  and  all  her  women  like  his  daughters." 

"  Glory  to  ye — glory  to  ye,  my  lord — long  life  to  ye !" 
shouted  the  people,  as  they  thundered  forth  their  sympathy  in 
his  wishes  for  Ireland,  and  for  what  they  deemed  the  first 
family  in  Ireland. 

"What  a  darlin'  purty  couple,  himsel'  and  Miss  Isabel 
would  make  :"  observed  Peggy  the  laundry-maid,  to  her  ad- 
mirer, Pat  Murphy. 

"  They  would  so  :"  agreed  Pat,  who  happened  to  be  in  a  par- 
ticularly complaisant  humour  that  evening — "  they  would  so, 
a'most  as  purty  a  couple  as  yoursel'  and  mysel',  Peggy." 

"The  divil's  impidence  you  have,  sure  enough,"  cried 
Peggy,  "  to  be  comparing  the  likes  of  uz  to  the  likes  of  them  ! 
But,  now  Pat,"  she  added,  in  a  coaxing  tone,  don't  you  see 
yoursel',  I  was  right?" 

"  When,  asthore  1  when  you  tould  me  I  was  the  darlin'  of 
your  heart,  is  if?  you  war,  indeed,  Peggy." 

"  Faith,  I  never  tould  you  that,"  replied  the  bashful  Peggy, 
"  I'd  be  very  sorry  to  be  telling  an  unthruth  ;"  spite  of  herself, 
however,  smiling  slily. 

"  Well,  may  be,"  rejoined  Pat,  "  you  mightn't  spake  intirely 
so  plain  as  that;  any  how,  you  tould  it  me,  the  way  I'd  under- 
stand, 'tis  that  was  your  raianing." 

"  Don't  bother  us,"  interrupted  his  gentle  mistress,  "tisn't 
that  I  mane  at  all,  you  know  very  well.  No — but  wasn't  I 
right  when  I  said,  who  know'd  but  maybe  the  English  lord 
and  one  of  the  young  ladies  would  be  a  match — wasn't  I  right, 
Pat?" 

"To  be  sure  you  war — arnt  you  always  right,  ma  colleen 


90  CANVASSING. 

dhasP^^  replied  he,  gallantly,  at  the  same  time  causing  her  to 
exclaim — 

"Behave  now,  Pat  Murphy!  bad  cess  to  your  impidence ! 
your  aqual  for  impidence,  Pat  Murphy,  I  never  seen,  and  the 
quallity  by,  and  all — bad  manners  to  ye." 

"  The  Lord  save  us  !  forgive  us  this  oust,  and  God  bless  ye, 
Peggy — I  forgot  the  quallity  was  in  it — I'll  wait  agin  till  they're 
gone,  ma  vourneen.^' 

"  Faith,  my  advice  to  ye  is  to  keep  your  hands  to  yoursel' 
for  good  an'  all,  Pat  Murphy,  an'  behave  yoursel',  whether  the 
quallity  is  in  it  or  no — or  let  who  will  be  in  it." 

"  'Tis  you  would  be  mad,  sure  enough,  if  I  tuck  ye  at  your 
word  ;"  rejoined  Pat,  laughing  provokingly. 

"  Scnadth  wanordth  /*  Pat  Murphy  !  how  dare  ye  say  that? 
I've  the  greatest  mind  in  the  world  to  give  ye" — Pat  advanced 
his  face  with  a  coxcombical  expression  that  enraged  his  prudish 
mistress — and  she  raised  a  somewhat  large  hand,  and  let  it  fall 
heavily  on  his  cheek — "  Take  that,  ye  concated  omadhoun 
ye  !"— 

Pat  laughed  and  rubbed  his  cheek — "ye  laned  rather  heavy, 
Peggy,  my  pet — you've  a'most  smashed  my  jaw,  my  honey." 

Mr.  Barham,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  colloquy,  and  who 
had  succeeded  in  stifling  his  laughter,  by  nearly  stifling  himself 
in  his  pocket-handkerchief,  could  no  longer  restrain  his  delight, 
but  clapping  his  hands  in  ecstacy  at  such  a  specimen  of  Irish 
flirtation,  crying  out,  "  You  served  him  right — how  good  !  oh 
what  capital  fun !" 

The  piper  struck  up  a  merry  tune,  and  Winny,  the  housemaid, 
came  up  and  dropped  a  curtsey — "Mr.  Barham,  if  you  plaze, 
sir,"  said  she,  smiling  and  blushing. 

"  What  is  it?  do  you  wish  to  sit  down  V  asked  he  civilly, 
making  room  for  her. 

"  It's  axing  you  to  dance,  she  is,  sir ;"  said  Peggy. 

"  Is  she  really  ?  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Winny,  but 
I'm  sadly  afraid  I  don't  know  how  to  dance  a  jig  yet  ;  I  should 
put  you  out,  I'm  sure." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  sir  ;"  replied  the  girls,  chiming  in  together — 
"  'tis  mighty  asy,  you  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  do,  sir,  only 
just  to  humour  the  tune,  and  whatever  side  of  the  room  your 
partner  does  be,  to  keep  opposite  to  her." 

*  A  hungry  cry  in  the  morning  to  ye  \ 


CANVASSING.  91 

"  And  whin  its  over,  sir,"  interrupted  Pat,  "just  to  put  your 
arm  round  her  purty  little  waist,  and  say  thank  ye,  my  Pet,  and 
shoot  the  action  to  the  word,  sir." 

"  What  a  funny  fellow  you  are  !"  cried  Mr.  Barham." 

"  Hon  Id  your  bother,  Pat  Murphy  !"  said  Wiuny,  reddening 
with  offended  modesty. 

The  crowd  cheered  the  young  Englishman  as  he  stood  up  to 
dance. 

"  Ax  your  partner  what  tune  she'll  have,  sir :"  whispered  Jim 
Naughton. 

Barham  adopted  the  suggestion. 

"  Oh,  'lis  all  the  same  to  me,  sir,  whatever  yoursel'  would 
like,  would  be  pleasing  to  me." 

"  No,  let  you  choose,  Winny — you  know  best  what  tune  will 
suit  us." 

"  Ax  her,  sir,  would  she  have  ♦  tattered  Jack  Walsh.'  " 

*'  Oh,  what  a  funny  name  :"   cried  Barham. 

"Clioke  me!  Jim  Naughton  !"  cried  Winny,  frowning. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  like  to  dance  that  tune  ?"  observed 
Barham,  good-naturedly — "  you  can  choose  any  other  you  like 
better."  J  ^ 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  she  likes  so  well  as  that,  sir:"  inter- 
rupted Jim,  laughing — "  she  doats  down  upon  it." 

"  You  have  some  joke  about  it,  I  am  sure,  Jim — do  tell  me 
what  it  is,  there's  a  good  fellow  !"  cried  Barham,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  nothing  at  all,  sir,  only  a  boy,  a  friend  of  mine,  one 
Jack  Walsh,  that  does  be  dhriving  along  with  mysel',  for  mis- 
ther  Costelloe  ;  and  himsel'  and  Winny  does  be  mighty  great 
together,  he's  her  bachelor,  you  know,  sir." 

"Faith,  an'  he  isn't:"  interrupted  Winny,  scowling  at  her  . 
lover's  fides  achates,  Jim  Naughton. 

"  An'  he's  a  great  fighter  and  roisterer  at  fairs,  an'  pattherns, 
sir,"  continued  Jim,  "  an'  one  turn  he  got  the  worst  of  it,  at  the 
fair  of  Derrymanagoslogh,  hard  by  the  castle  here;  an'  he 
come  in  here  the  same  night  to  Winny  with  his  clothes  tore  to 
tatthers,  the  most  miserable  looking  cratur  ever  you  seen,  sir, 
an'  ever  sence  we  called  him  tatthered  Jack  Walsh,  after  the 
jig — an'  Winny  does  be  mad,  on  account  of  the  joke  about  her 
bachelor.  Whenever  you  want  to  make  Winny  come  up  stairs 
smart  to  you,  sir,  you've  nothing  to  do  hut  to  call  out  over  the 
bannister,  '  Tatthered  Jack  Walsh,'  an'  'tis,  she  will  skelp  aft 
to  ye,  in  a  jiffy,  sir." 


92  *  CANVASSING. 

Barham  enjoyed  amazingly  this  piece  of  Irish  wit — while 
waiting  for  some  tune  which  should  suit  Winny's  taste,  and 
yet  not  furnish  Jim  with  materials  for  mischievous  applications. 
Barham  talked  to  his  partner. 

"  So,  in  Ireland,  the  women  ask  the  men  to  dance — what 
funny  girls  you  must  be  !  but  when  you  want  to  be  married,  do 
ye  ask  the  men  to  marry  ye  1" 

"Ax  the  min  to  marry  us,  is  it"?  Musha,  faith  an'  we  don't 
— why  would  we  1  Thank  God,  there's  no  occasion,  indeed, 
we'd  be  giving  oursel's  that  throuble  any  how,  they've  good 
warrants  to  say  that  much  for  themsel's.  Faith,  they'd  have  to 
wait  long  enough  if  they  waited  till  we'd  ax  'em — pity,  indeed  !" 
Here  the  jig  struck  up  :  "  now,  if  you  plase,  Mr.  Barham." 

Barham,  who  had  rather  a  good  ear,  contrived  "  to  humour 
the  tune,"  very  tolerably  for  a  first  attempt ;  and  his  love  of  fun 
inspired  him  with  all  the  agility  necessary — he  jumped  and 
shouldered  very  much  in  the  style  of  Jim  Naughton,  to  the  in- 
expressible delight  and  admiration  of  the  bye-standers. 

*'  What  an  iligant  match  himsel'  an'  Miss  Maria  would  be  !" 
observed  Peggy,  "  they  have  such  gaining  ways  with  them, 
jist  cut  off  the  same  patthern  the  pair  of  'em  are — an'  so  found 
as  he  is  of  her — evermore  running  afther  her,  you'd  think  he'd 
lose  his  life  when  she's  out  of  his  sight  a  minute — axing  about 
her,  an'  looking  every  place  for  her— an'  thin  such  screeching 
laughing  as  they  do  be  having  together,  whin  he  finds  her  onst 
more." 

"  Pooh  !  he  is  no  match  for  her,  he  has  no  sense  :"  remarked 
Bartly  the  groom. 

"'Tis  you  that's  the  judge  sure  enough,  whether  he  has  or 
no;"  retorted  Peggy. 

"  What  matthers  about  his  sinse  1"  observed  the  cook,  "  she 
has  enough,  I'll  be  bound,  for  hersel'  an'  himsel'." 

"T'will  be  a  match,  you'll  see  :"  insisted  Peggy. 

"It  won't;"  cried  the  groom. 

*'  It  will ;"  reiterated  Peggy — "  an',  moreover,  Miss  Isabel 
an'  the  English  lord  will  be  another  match,  as  sure  as  my  name 
is  Peggy  Flanagan." 

"  Oh  thin  your  name  isn't  Peggy  Flanagan,  so,"  interrupted 
Mr.  McAlpine's  groom,  "  that  will  never  be  a  match  I  can  tell 
you — " 

"  Why  won't  iti"  demanded  Peggy — 

*'  Becase,"  answered  he,  "  my  masther  Mr.  McAlpine  will 
niver  let  her  lave  this  country — he  intends  keeping  her  for  him- 


CANVASSING.  93 

sel' — he  dotes  down  upon  her,  an'  well  he  may,  for  she's  a 
most  beautiful,  iligant,  finely  edicated  young  lady,  as  ever 
you'd  wish  to  see — ^jist  the  moral  for  himsel',  for  all  the  world 
— they're  as  like  one  another  as  two  pays — every  one  in  the 
counthry  does  be  saying  they're  made  a  purpose  for  one  another 
— you  niver  seen  sich  a  way  as  he  does  be  going  on  about  her, 
up  at  the  castle — there  a  most  iligant  mare  he  has,  he  has  called 
afther  her — an'  a  boat  he  has  on  the  lake  that  gais  by  her  name, 
too — un'  he  does  be  making  poethry  on  her,  out  of  a  poethry 
book  he  has  up  at  the  castle,  at  home — an'  he  does  be  repeating 
the  poethry  when  he  does  be  out  riding — an'  I'm  credibly  in- 
formed," continued  he,  lowering  his  voice,  "that  he's  come 
here  this  turn  a  purpose  to  make  his  purposals  for  her,  out  o' 
hand — see  there  !  how  he's  jist  come,  along  with  her  ladyship 
—look  at  himsel'  an'  Miss  Isabel,  now — Isn't  he  coorting  her, 
like  mad,  this  minute — see  how  well  he  can't  take  his  eyes  off 
her,  but  does  be  whispering  to  her,  something  I'll  be  bound 
she's  mighty  pleased  to  hear,  see  how  purty  an'  modest  she 
keeps  lookin'  on  the  ground." 

"  JNIy  blessing  to  her— she's  in  the  right  of  it !"  muttered 
Peggy  unheard  by  the  last  speaker — "  not  to  be  looking  on  an 
ugly  yallow  cratur  of  his  kind — poor  girl,  as  I  am  Mrs.  McDo- 
nogh,  I'd  rather  beg  the  world  over  with  one  I'd  like,  than 
I'd  be  sittinor  on  a  throne  of  ooold  with  the  likes  of  him,  beside 
the-"         °  ^ 

"Mysel'  don't  so  much  mis-like  him,  truth,"  observed  Win- 
ny,  who  had  just  joined  the  group  of  Castle  Wilmot  followers, 
then  occupied  descanting  out  of  hearing  of  the  McAlpines  on 
the  ill-favoured  visage  of  their  Lord —  *'  he's'always  a  good  war- 
rant to  give  me  five  or  six  tinpinny  bits,  if  he  stops  but  the 
night — an' T  never  seen  a  gintleman  less  trouble  in  his  room, 
than  himsel' — he's  a  mighty  clane  gintleman,  Peggy — mighty 
clane,  itsel' — the  one  jug  o'  wather,  an'  the  one  towel  lasts  him 
for  a  for'night — an'  thin  such  other  splashing  and  washing,  an' 
slopping  an'  lathering  as  other  gintlemen  keeps,  one  'must  be 
always  running  every  minute    to    give  a  touch   at  the  flure, 

Peggy—" 

"  I'm  not  saying  whether  he's  a  clane  gintleman  or  no,'  re- 
joined Peggy — "  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  him  good  or  bad, 
thank  God  !  all  I'm  saying  is,  that  the  English  Lord  would  be 
far  beyant  him,  in  regard  of  husband  for  Miss  Isabel — " 

"  Avoch — to  be  sure,  he  would,  Peggy — it  w'ill  be  a  match 
you'll  see,  Peggy." 

•'A'  to  be  sure  it  will— isn't  that  whatl'm  saying  all  night?" 


94  CANVASSING. 

"  When  my  master  Mr.  McAlpine  marries  Miss  Isabel  Wil- 
mot,"  observed  Tom  Landrigan,  Mr.  McAlpine's  man,  to  Mr. 
Kelly  and  Pat  Murphy,  "what  rejoicing  there  will  be  all  over 
the  counthry!  what  an  eligant  wedding  we'll  have;  Castle 
Wilmot,  and  McAlpine  castle  will  carry  everything  before 
'em —the  two  finest  intherests  in  the  county,  Mr.  Kelly — they 
'II  return  the  two  mimbers,  asy — "Faith  they  would  so — ob- 
served Mr.  Kelly — "  as  asy  as  they'd  swallow  a  tumbler  o' 
punch — " 

"  Aye  troth — "  said  Pat. 

Mr.  Kelly  and  Pat  Murphy,  as  men  and  politicians,  were  less 
annoyed  by  Mr.  McAlpine's  "  yallowness"  than  the  females  of 
the  household.  To  return  "  two  mimbers  of  the  county"  was, 
in  their  opinion,  the  culminating  point  of  human  grandeur;  and 
Mr.  McAlpine  having  the  greatest  number  of  freeholders  after 
their  master,  was  of  course  the  next  greatest  man  in  their  eyes, 
and  a  far  more  important  personage  than  Viscount  Warringdon, 
consequently  a  much  more  desirable  alliance  for  the  family.  In 
the  glorious  days  of  the  '•''forty  shillmgers,^^  a  gentleman's  im- 
portance was  estimated  not  so  much  by  the  productiveness  of 
his  acres  as  by  their  quantity,  and  the  number  of  ragged  human 
beings  he  could  contrive  to  pen  upon  them.  Lord  Warringdon 
might  be  the  first  man  in  England,  for  anything  Mr.  Kelly  or 
Pat  Murphy  knew  or  cared  to  the  contrary,  but  he  was  not  "  the 
first  man  in  the  county"  any  how,  nor  the  second  neither.  The 
Castle  Wilmot  household  divided,  however,  on  this  question. 
The  men  being  all  for  Mr.  McAlpine,  the  women  for  Lord  War- 
ringdon, "  because  he  was  a  beautiful  gintleman,  and  so  grand 
looking;"  because  Mrs.  McDonogh  had  said  that  Mr.  Symraons 
had  tould  her  that  the  finest  ladies  in  the  land  were  fighting  who 
should  have  him,  an'  that  he  could  have  his  pick  and  choose 
whenever  he  liked  of  'em,  married  or  no, — an'  that  he  lived  in 
the  greatest  state  and  grandeur,  with  the  greatest  retinue  of  ser- 
vants that  ever  was  seen. 

"  Pat,  you'll  see  'twill  be  the  English  lord  she  marries,"  said 
Peggy. 

"It  won't,"  rejoined  Pat. 

"  iVa6oc/isA,-_you'll  see  if  it  won't.  Mrs.  McDonogh,  ma'am, 
won't  it?"  ^ 

"  Of  coorse  it  will,"  answered  Mrs.  McDonogh. 

"  Why  of  coorse  1"  asked  Pat. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  inform  you,  Pat  Murphy,  what  private 


CANVASSING.  ^5 

reasons  I  have  for  thinking  so,"  returned  Mrs.McDonogh,  con- 
sequentially. 

"One thing  I'm  sure  of,  at  any  rate,"  said  Peggy,  "hersel' 
and  Miss  Maria  will  be  married  soon,  whomsoever  it  may  be 
to,  on  account  of  the  dhrame  I  had." 

"What  dhrame,  Peggy  V  inquired  Mrs.  McDonogh. 

"  A  great  dhrame  I  had,  ma'am,  about  cats  and  dogs'^fightino-." 

»'  Aye,  that's  a  fine  dhrame, — you  couldn't  have°a  better  one 
for  marriage,  Peggy." 

"  So  I  always  heerd  tell,  ma'am,  that  to  dhrame  of  cats  an' 
dogs  fighting  was  the  finest  sign  in  the  world  of  a  marriage." 

"Tell  us  your  dhrame,  an'  God  bless  you,  Peggy,"  said 
Mrs.  McDonogh. 

"Dhraming  I  was,  ma'am,  that  I  was  silting  below,  in  the 
scullery,  dhrying  my  clothes,  becase  the  chimbly  smoked  so  in 
the  laundhry,  I  was  afeard  they'd  be  all  black  ;  an'  while  I  was 
sitting  there,  wondhering  how  long  they  took  to  dhry,  there 
come  in  a  big  black  dog,  with  red  eyes." 

"  Are  ye  sure  his  eyes  was  red,  Peggy  ?"  demanded  Mrs. 
McDonogh. 

*'I  am  ma'am,— and  he  kept  running  about  every  place,  as 
though  he  was  looking  for  something.  Mysel'  got  frickened, 
he  looked  so  big  an'  terrible;  an'  I  was  staling  out  unknownst, 

when  I  heerd  a  cat  mewing  outside  the  scullery  window, sich 

othermewing,  Mrs.  McDonogh,  you  niver  heard.  In  my  dhrame 
I  thought  'twas  Kutty  Murphy's  cat,  that  run  wild,  an'  used  to 
be  keeping  in  the  shrubbery  beyant,  an'  the  little  boys  that  used 
to  be  throwin'  stones  at  her,  you  know  ;  the  masther  bid  'em 
take  care  for  their  lives  would  they  do  the  like  again.  Well,  I 
thought  'twas  Kutty  Murphy's  cat,  so  I  opened  the  window, 
and  let  her  in,  for  fear  the  masther  would  be  mad  if  I  did'nt; 
and  if  I  did,  hersel'  and  himsel'  began  fighting.  Och !  Mrs. 
McDonogh,  they  bate  all  ever  you  seen  !  tearing  an' scratching, 
an'  snarling,  an'  spitting,  like  mad.  My  heart  was  bateing  like 
anything  when  I  woke,  Mrs.  McDonogh." 

"  That's  a  fine  dhrame,  Peggy,  I'll  explain  it  to  you." 

"Thank'ee,  ma'am." 

"The  big  black  dog,"  resumed  Mrs.  McDonogh,  "is  a 
gintleman  of  great  fortune  an'  clever  appearance;  you  remim- 
ber  my  axing  ye,  Peggy,  were  ye  sure  of  the  colour  of  his 
eyes  1 " 


96  CANVASSING. 

"  I  do,  ma'am,"  ifejoined  the  dreamer. 

"Red  eyes,"  continued  the  expounder,  "is  a  sign  he  comes 
from  England  ;  an'  look  in'  about  every  place  is  a  sicrn  he  comes 
over  here" for  something  parlicklar, — ye  know  the  English  lord 
come  lookin'  for  the  county  ;  the  cat  mewing  is  Miss  Isabel, — 
ye  know  she's  not  so  hearty  as  what  Miss  Maria  does  be  ;  then, 
you  know,  hersel'  an' himsel' fighting  is  a  sign  it's  married  they 
will  be." 

"  That's  jist  what  I  was  thinking  mysell',  ma'am.  "  \\'ell, 
afther  that,  Mrs.  McDonogh,  I  fell  asleep  the  second  time,  and 
I  thought  mysel'  and  my  little  sisther  was  below  at  the  river,  ^ 
wringing  out  the  clothes,  an  I  felt  something  scrape  my  arm  au'  I 
looked  back,  an'  what  should  I  see,  but  a  little,  small  white 
dog,  with  a  collar  about  his  neck  ;  an' he  kept  scrapin',  scrapin,' 
even  till  I  looked  up,  an',  faith,  there  was  a  cat,  a  mighty  ugly 
one,  itsel',  above  in  the  three ;  a  small,  miserable-looking 
cratur,  as  ever  you  seen  !  an'  while  I  was  lookin'  at  her,  she 
turned  into  a  cat  as  big  as  a  horse;  and  she  jumped  off  the 
three,  all  of  a  suddent,  and  tuk  the  little  dog,  and  began  rand- 
lin'  him.  Well  ma'am,  they  fought,  and  tore  each  other  to  bits, 
an'  she  finished  by  atin'  him,  intirely,  ail  to  his  collar,  an'  she 
tuk  that  in  her  mouth,  an'  wint  an'  scraped,  scraped,  even  till 
she  made  a  hole  in  the  ground,  an'  put  the  collar  in  it, — and 
then  I  woke,  for  Winny  gave  a  kick  in  the  bed." 

" That's  a  fine  dhrame,  too,  Peggy:  the  small,  little  white 
dog  is  Mr.  Barham  :  an'  the  collar  is  a  sign  he  has  a  fine  for- 
tune ;  an'  the  scrapin'  is  a  sign  he's  always  talkin'  ;  the  cat  in 
the  three  is  Miss  Maria ;  an'  lookin'  miserable  is  a  sign  that 
she  isn't  so  at  all,  Peggy  ; — dhrames,  you  know,  always  goes 
by  conthraries  : — well,  then,  her  changing  to  be  as  big  as  a 
horse,  is  a  sign  she's  to  have  a  fine,  large  house,  and  a  great 
dale  of  children." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  !"  cried  Peggy. 

"  Well,  Peggy,  her  throttling  the  little  dog  is  a  sign  she'll 
have  more  sinse  than  him;  an'  ating  him  up  alive,  of  coorse,  is 
a  sign  its  man  an  wife  they'll  be." 

"  An'  the  collar,  Mrs.  McDonogh,  what  does'  that  mane, 
ma'am?" 

*'  Oh,  the  collar,  Peggy,  is  a  sign  there  will  be  no  ind  to  the 
grandeur  an'  prosperity  she's  to  live  in  ; — an',  moreover,  that 
she's  to  have  the  upper  hand  of  him  ; — for  she  tuk  the  collar  of 
him,  you  remimber,  Peggy?" 


CANVASSING.  97 

"  Alusha,  that  it  may  be  so  1"  ejaculated  Peggy.  "  God  sees 
and  knows,  Mrs.  Mc  Donogh,  there  isn't  a  night  nor  morning  I 
don't  pray  for  husbands  for  'em  both.  Miss  Isabel  isn't  so  intire- 
ly  lauchtj*  a  cratur  as  Miss  Maria,  but  she's  a  mild,  quiet  little 
cratur,  never  gives  a  sour  look,  nor  cross  word  ; — the  Lord  pur- 
tect  'em  both  !  Miss  Maria  more  especially.  What  in  the  world's 
that  they're  screeching  about  there,  beyant,  Barry  Sullivan  1" 

"Pat  Sullivan,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine's  foster-brother,  that's  axing 
Miss  Isabel  to  dancC;  and  Misther  Mc  Alpine's  tinants  are  clap- 
ping her,"  replied  Barney. 

"  Mc  Alpine  and  Wilmot  for  ever!"  cried  the  Mc  Alpine  fol- 
lowers; "high  for  Misther  Mc  Alpine !-^high  for  Miss  Wil- 
mot !" 

"  Them  tinants  of  Mri  Mc  Alpine  are  mighty  impident,  ar'n't 
they,  ma'am?"  questioned  Peggy  of  her  oracle,  Mrs.  Mc  Donogh  ; 
"  You'd  think,  to  hear  'ern  going  on,  their  masther  had  nothing 
in  the  world  to  do,  but  jist  to  come  coortin',  and  got  for  axin  !" 

"  What  matthers  what  ignorant  people  of  their  description 
think  at  all  ?"  replied  Mrs.  Mc  Donogh,  shrugging  her  shoulders, 
as  she  cast  a  look  at  the  yelling,  hand^jlapping  Mc  Alpine's  fol- 
lowers. 

"  What  manner  of  breeding  can  the  likes  of  them  have,  who 
has  no  experience  of  life]  hould  your  chat,"  said  she,  angrily,  to 
one  at  her  side^  who  was  roaring  out  for  '  Miss  Isabel  and  Mis- 
ther Mc  Alpine;'  "  hould  your  tongue, — don't  you  see  she  don't 
like  it]" 

"  She  does  like  it,"  interrupted  Pat,  afraid  of  offending  the 
Mc  Alpine  consequence;  "  she  likes  it  well,  I  promise  you;  only 
she's  ashamed,  because  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  is  by." 

Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  though  he  seldom  condescended  to  dance, 
thought  that  this  occasion  might  prove  one  of  the  few  exceptions 
to  his  general  rule ;  and  to  reward  the  fair  Isabel  for  her  gracious- 
ness,  in  dancing  with  his  foster-brother,  and  to  show  his  sense  of 
the  compliment,  thereby  paid  himself,  he  stood  up  and  relieved 
his  follower,  an  expression  which  means  that  he  took  the  man's 
place  in  the  dance,  who,  according  to  the  usual  etiquette,  imme- 
diately sat  down.  The  shouting  and  cries  of  "  High  for  Miss 
Isabel!  high  for  Misther  Mc  Alpine!"  redoubled,  to  his  delight, 
and  her  annoyance,  and  to  the  gratification  of  the  men,  and  infi- 
nite displeasure  of  the  women  of  the  Castle-Wilmot  establish- 
ment. Winny,  from  her  occasional  attendance  on  Lord  War- 
ringdon's  room,  ae  well  as  on  account  of  getting  a  compliment 

•  In  this  sense,  gracteuse. 
9 


9&  CANVASSING* 

from  him,  now  and  then,  on  her  rosy  cheeks  and  blue  eyes,  when 
they  accidentally  met  on  the  stairs,  was  on  talking  terms  witb 
the  Viscount;  hence  she  now  addressed  him  thus: — If  I  was  a 
fine,  diver  gintleman,  I  wouldn't  let  a  nice  young  lady  have 
such  a  yallow  face  as  that,  for  a  partner ;  glancing  at  Mr.  Mc 
Alpine,  "  when  I'd  have  a  good  one  of  my  own  to  put  in  its 
place,"  laughing,  slyly,  as  she  looked  up  at  Lord  Warrin^don. 

"Perhaps,  she  might  be  displeased,  Winny,"  replied  he, 
smiling  at  the  compliment  and  insinuation  it  conveyed. 

"  Displeased,  is  it  V  cried  Winny ;  "  Musha  faith,  an'  she 
wouldn't;  an'  why  would  she]  she  has  her  eyes  in  her  head." 

Lord  Warringdon  took  the  hint,  and,  imitating  what  he  had 
seen  others  do,  relieved  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  who  looked  waxing  very 
indignant,  thereupon;  Isabel,  however,  did  not; — her  previous 
flush  of  vexation  was  immediately  replaced  by  one  of  another  ex- 
pression. 

The  people  regarded  his  brdship's  movement  as  a  jest,  per- 
mitted by  the  ru^les  of  the  dance,  to  separate  and  disconcert  the 
lovers;  and  a  jest  being  always  well  received  by  the  Irish  peo- 
ple, particularly  from  a  superior,  his  good-humour  in  thus  joining 
in  the  amusements  of  the  evening,  notwithstanding  his  fall  in 
the  morning,  helped  him  on  wonderfully  as  a  candidate;  and  he 
was  rewarded  by  shouts  of  laughter,  and  cries  of  "  Warringdon 
for  ever!  success  to  him!  high  for  the  English  lord!" 

"  He's  a  fine,  cliver  gentleman,"  observed  the  Me  Alpine  ser- 
vants: "  I'd  be  glad  the  masther  would  vote  for  him;  he  has  no 
pride  nor  consate  about  him  at  all." 

"  Thrue  for  ye!"  cried  Jim  Naughton;  he's  a  ra'al  gentleman, 
every  inch  of  him; — he  made  me  a  compliment  of  a  five-pound 
note,  for  dhrivin'  him  up  here;  and  though  he  thought  (the  cra- 
ture)  'twas  all  my  fault  he  stuck  in  the  bog-hole,  an'  his  bones 
broke  a'most  in  comin'  along,  devil  a  word  he  said  cross,  or  out 
of  the  way,  to  mc:  and  before  he  set  out,  breakin'  his  heart 
laughin'  at  one  thing  or  other,  jokin'  with  mysel',  you'd  think 
'twas  his  born  brother  I  was,  faith,  you  would.  Pat  Sullivan,  I 
hope,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Peggy,  and  whispering,  in  order 
that  Pat  Sullivan  might  not  overhear  him,  "I  hope  it's  him  she'll 
marry,  an'  not  Misther  Mc  Alpine,  with  his  big,  yallow  teeth, 
an'  poor,  little,  miserable,  squeezed-up,  starved,  carcass;  like  a 
weazle  he  is,  for  all  the  world,  an'  nothing  but  skin  an'  bone,  no 
substance  in  him  at  all;  the  English  lord  would  make  two  of 
him,  Peggy.  By  my  conscience!  if  I  was  a  young  lady,  I 
wouldn't^look  at  him,  itsel',  let  alone  marrying  him:  and  he's  a 
great  negur,  as  ever  you  seen,  in  his  own  house,  Peggy." 

"  A-thin,  is  he,  Jim  7  well,  to  be  sure,  an'  them  tinants  of  his, 


CANVA.SSING.  99 

that  does  be  braggin'  so  out  of  him,  what  a  fine  house  he  keeps, 
an'  how  he's  like  the  masther,  for  all  the  world — evermore 
giving",  giving." 

*' Oh,  the  liar  of  the  world!"  cried  Jim;  "like  the  masther, 
indeed  I  they  must  be  the  divils,  intirely,  if  they  say  that.  The 
time  I  druve  the  officers'  ladies  there,  you  know,  Peggy,  an'  that 
I  smashed  my  pole,  an'  druve  'em  without  a  tatther  of  a  pole, 
good  or  bad;  you  remimber  hearing  tell  of  that,  Peggy]" 

"To  be  sure  I  did; — sure  the  whole  counthry  was  talking  of 
nothing  else,"  replied  Peggy. 

"  Ay?"  said  Jim,  smiling  with  much  self-complacency;  "  well, 
my  dear,  he  wasn't  plased  because  mysel'  and  my  horses  was 
stoppin'  at  the  house,  waitin'  till  Pd  mend  my  pole.  I  heerd  him 
axing  Tom  Lanidigan,  his  body  man,  what  I  was  doin'  in  it,  so 
Jong.  Like  the  masther,  indeed!  that  supposin'  you  war  the 
devil,  out  of  hell,  not  to  talk  of  a  dacent  boy,  if  you  stopped  in  it 
a  year  would  think  'twas  too  soon  you  were  goin'  away,— bad 
manners  to  themsel's  an  their  companions,  the  liars  of  the  world  ! 
he's  no  more  like  the  masther  than  Pra  like  the  Lord  Leftenant, 
Peggyr 


100  CANVASSING. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Lady  Anne  and  Maria  were  overwhelmed  with  business  for 
some  days,  makinor  preparations  for  the  party — settling  whom 
they  must  invite,  and  whom  tliey  need  not — those  they  should 
ask  to  dinner,  and  those  they  could  not  possibly  have  room  for — 
those  to  whom  they  should  offer  beds,  and  those  whom  they  might 
leave  to  the  care  of  their  guardian  angels  on  their  return  home- 
wards, &c.  &c.  The  party  being  given  in  honour  of  the  candi- 
date, it  was,  of  course,  necessary  to  invite  the  principal  consti- 
tuents of  the  county,  unfortunately,  many  of  the  principal  con- 
stituents of  the  county  had  nice  pretty  daughters,  or  sisters,  or 
wives.  How  then  was  Lady  Anne  to  reconcile  attention  to  her 
guest's  interest  with  her  maternal  anxiety  for  her  daughters] 

"  I  am  sadly  puzzled,  Maria,"  said  she:  "I  must  ask  the  men; 
and  yet  it  don't  always  suit  me  to  ask  the  women — I  can't  ask 
the  men  without  the  women,  I  am  afraid]" 

"  Oh  yes,  you  can — whenever  there  are  pretty  girls  you  don't 
choose  to  ask,  tell  them  you  have  no  beds  to  offer,  they  will  un- 
derstand that  perfectly — every  body  knows  it  is  easy  to  make  up 
a  barrack  room  for  the  men — one  can  stow  them  any  where,  but 
that  one  can't  dispose  so  unceremoniously  of  ladies;  at  any  rate, 
one  couldn't  ask  whole  families  in  the  lump,  that  way — one  must 
make  some  selection  when  one  has  half  a  county  to  be  civil  to, 
and  that  being  the  case,  you  can  easily  manage  to  pick  out  the 
ugly  or  vulgar  girl  of  a  house — the  compliment  is  equally  felt  by 
the  family;  the  pretty  sisters  will  be  disappointed,  to  be  sure, 
but  the  father  and  mother  as  well  as  herself,  will  be  charmed 
with  your  kindness." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  Lady  Anne — "and  we  must  ask  the  Ca^ 
tholic  Bishop  and  O'Reilly,  to  dinner,  to  give  Warringdon  the 
better  opportunity  for  conciliating  them — they  have  no  women, 
thank  God." 

"  Don't  forget  the  Colonel  and  field  officers,  and  a  few  Cap- 
tains or  so,  of  the  regiment — we  want  the  band — and  military 
men  always  set  off  a  party  so  much,"  observed  Maria, 


CANVASSING.  lOl 

'"Remember,-'  said  Lady  Anne,  "that  we  write  to  Kitty  Mc 
Alpine." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,  she  possesses,  in  perfection,  the  requisites 
tor  admittance;  her  brother  in  petticoats ;  ugly  enouorh  in  all  con- 
science," laughed  Maria. 

"  We  may  ask  all  the  lady  Pembertons,  I  think,  Maria." 

"  Oh  yes,  all — it  would  take  one  a  century  to  decide  which 
was  the  least  hideous." 

"  What  shall  we  do  about  the  Rvans?  the  girls  are  both  ex- 
ceedingly pretty." 

"Yes,  but  they  are  also  exceedingly  vulgar,"— answered 
Maria. 

"  Ah,  very  well,  I  forgot  that.  Now,  about  Eliza  Fitzgerald. 
1  am  sadly  annoyed.  I  can't  possibly  avoid  having  a  bed  for  her. 
Mr.  Fitzgerald,  member  for  the  county,  and  friend  and  colleague 
of  your  father;  and  yet  she  is  a  beautiful,  accomplished,  elegant- 
minded  votTng  woman." 

"  Yes,  but  she  isn't  fashionable— knows  none  of  the  people 
whom  every  body  who  is  somebody  knows." 

"Her  figure,  my  dear  Maria,  is  splendid— there  she  has  deci- 
dedly the  advantage  over  Isabel— in  other  points,  the  attractions 
are  balanced ;  her  features  are  more  regular,  but  the  expression 
less  engaging,  than  Isabel's ;  but  her  person— I  repeat,  impossi- 
ble not  to  be  struck  by  her." 

"Granted,"  replied  Maria,  "but  she's  deep  blue  indigo.  Do 
you  imagine  that  all  the  beauty,  accomplishments,  and  majesty 
on  earth  would  atone  in  Warringdon's  opinion,  or,  indeed,  ili 
that  of  any  man,  for  the  high  crime  and  misdemeanor  of  readino- 
Greek,  and  what  is  worse,  talking  of  it?  by  the  way,  you  appea'r 
to  me  to  give  yourself  an  immensity  of  needless  trouble,  picking 
out  ugly  girls  for  him— he  would  no  more  marrv  one  of  these 
pretty  nobodies  than  lie  would  fly." 

"  You  don't  call  Miss  Fitzgerald  a  nobody,  my  dear  Maria." 
"  I  don't  call  her  a  nobody  positively,  but  relatively  she  is— 
nobody  in  town  knows  her— so  she  will  be  noboJy  to  our  Vis- 
count. Besides,  you  ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  it  isn't  quite 
so  easy  a  matter  to  make  young  men  fall  in  love  with  everv 
pretty  girl  they  see.'"'^ 

"  1  am  not  afraid  of  his  falling  in  love  with  her— but  I  am 
alarmed  lest  his  admiration  be  diverted  from  Isabel  by  seein^r 
beauty  of  another  kind— the  great  thing  is  never  to  suffer  a  man 
to  see  what  is  capable  of  dividing  his  attention.  Let  Warring- 
don  find  Isabel  superior  to  all  around  her,  and  he  will  fancy  her 
superior  to  all  he  ever  saw  before.  I  see  I'm  making  way  with 
him,  and  to  lose  him  now,  after  all  the  trouble  I  have  been  at. 

9* 


102  CANVASSING. 

would  be  really  dreadful,  you  are  sure  I  need  have  no  apprehen- 
sions about  Eliza  Fitzgerald  ?" 

"  None  upon  earth,"  replied  Maria, 

Lady  Anne  still  pondered. 

"  Well,"  said  Maria,  laughing,  "  not  convinced  yef!" 

*'  Oh  yes,  I  am  easy  now ;  that  is,  about  Isabel." 

"  What  are  you  uneasy  about,  then  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,  my  love." 

"  Of  me  !  what  about  me  ]" 

"  Why,  I  was  thinking,"  replied  Lady  Anne,  "  whether  it  were 
possible  she  could  do  you  any  harm,  by  interfering  with  Bar- 
ham." 
-'    Maria  again  laughed — 

"  La,  mamma,  what  a  bugbear  you  make  to  yourself  of  Eliza 
Fitzgerald  !  the  idea  of  her  interfering  with  poor  Barham — she, 
up  in  the  clouds,  hunting  sublimity,  and  lie  in  the  kitchen,  look- 
ing for  fun  !  Why,  she  will  talk  to  him  about  an  epic  poem,  and 
lie  will  ask  her  for  a  droll  story,  and  then  they  will  fly  off  at  a 
tangent." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Lady  Anne ;  "  my  mind  is  now  quite  at 
ease:  by  the  way,  I  think  Barham  begins  to  like  you." 

"  Not  he !  he  doesn't  care  a  pin  about  me." — 

"  He  is  always  running  after  you,  I  know." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Maria,  "  as  he  does  after  father  John,  to  be 
made  laugh." 

"  He  must  be  a  sad  bore  to  you,  my  dear  Maria." 

"  Yes,  I  find  this  courting  of  mine  tant  soil  pen  ennuyant^  but 
it  can't  be  helped." 

Invitations  were  despatched  all  over  the  county,  and  great  was 
the  commotion  excited,  and  various  were  the  reports  circulated 
as  to  the  precise  motive  whereon  was  founded  the  giving  of  this 
said  ball.  Some  said  it  was  an  electioneering  party — others  said 
it  was  a  marriage  party — and  a  third  group  insisted  that  it  was 
to  unite  both:  that  is,  as  a  compliment  to  Lord  Warringdon  the 
candidate,  and  Mr.  McAlpine  tlie  son-in-law,  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  Vehicles,  of  all  descriptions,  were  put  in  requisition,  from 
the  carriage-and-four  down  to  the  jaunting  car;  nay,  some  did 
not  disdain  even  a  common  peasant's  "car,"  for  once  in  a  way, 
to  convey  their  daughters  to  a  ball  at  "the  Castle,"  and  to  a  rich 
young  wifeless  English  lord ;  for  the  fact  of  his  celibacy  had 
spread  like  wild  fire  tiirough  the  country. 

"You  must  all  put  into  the  lottery,  young  ladies.  Lord  War- 
ringdon is  not  married  yet,"  said  Lady  Anne,  either  vivd  voce,  or 
by  means  of  a  pretty  little  billet,  to  all  her  prime  favourites:  to 
wit,  all  the  cross-eyed,  red-haired,  brogueaneering  young  ladies 


CANVASSING.  108 

of  her  acquaintance — so,  not  a  girl  among"  them  but  rose  the 
morning  of  the  eventful  day  a  viscountess  in  anticipation. 

And  upon  the  said  morning,  Lady  Anne  sent  all  her  gentlemen 
out  to  ride,  iraniediately  after  breakfast,  in  order,  as  she  informed 
them,  to  turn  the  house  out  of  windows  comfortably  during  their 
absence.  The  viscount  outstaid  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  only 
returned  in  time  to  take  luncheon  and  dress  for  dinner; — as  soon 
as  the  last  operation  had  been  efiected,  he  descended  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  he  found  a  large  party  assembled — chiefly  gen- 
tlemen; and  among  the  number  were  two  whose  appearance 
struck  him  as  being  more  courtly  than  any  he  had  yet  seen  in  the 

county  of .     The  elder,  a  dignified,   intelligent-looking 

man,  was  standing  at  the  window,  talking  to  Mr.  Wilmot,  who 
listened  to  him  with  much  deference.  The  younger  was  sitting 
near  Isabel,  speaking  earnestly  with  her,  while  she  appeared 
quite  engrossed  by  his  conversation;  occasionally  lowering  her 
eyes  and  blushing,  as  he  made  some  observations  in  a  seemingly 
playful  tone:  and  Lord  Warringdon  remarked  that  the  blush  was 
accompanied  by  a  smile,  and  that  the  eyes  were  withdrawn  only 
for  a  second  or  two,  and  then  raised  up  again  to  those  of  her  com- 
panion. And  his  lordship  also  observed  that  the  eyes  last  alluded 
to  were  superb  dark  ones ;  and  that  their  owner  had  brilliant 
teeth,  and  a  very  fine  expression  of  countenance  into  the  bar- 
gain. 

"  Devilish  good  looking  fellow,"  he  muttered ;  "  perhaps  this 
is  the  man  she  likes,  and  not  me.  If  he  be  a  lover  (and  what 
other  liaison  can  there  be  between  such  a  handsome  man  and  such 
a  pretty  girl,)  he  is  certainly  an  accepted  one ;  his  manner  is  sa 
gay  and  secure, — hers  so  easy  and  confidential ; — that  of  both  so 
good-humoured  and  friendly,  nay,  affectionate:"  and,  as  he  cogi- 
tated thus,  he  bit  his  lips,  and  knit  his  brows,  settling  in  his  own 
mind  that  the  elder  gentleman  was  father  to  the  younger. 

Lord  Warringdon  had  studied,  unobserved  by  them,  the  two 
groups  we  have  noticed;  in  fact,  his  entrance  into  the  room  was 
not  observed,  until  Lady  Anne's  keen  eye  discovered  him,  and 
drew  her  husband's  attention  to  his  noble  guest. 

"  My  love,  you  forget  that  this  is  khe  first  time  that  Lord  War- 
ringdon and  the  Bishop  have  met." 

"I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  lord,"  said  Wilmot, 
turning  round,  "I  was  so  absorbed  in  politics  here,  that  I  did  not 
perceive  you ;  allow  me  to  introduce  my  particular  and  valued 
friend,  the  Catholic  Bishop  of to  your  lordship." 

''He  can't  be  the  father,  then,"  thought  the  viscount,  as  he 
bowed  his  most  gracious  bow,  and  smiled  his  most  insinuating^ 
vote-asking  smile. 


104  CANVASSING. 

*'  O'Reilly,  where  are  you?"  cried  Mr.  Wilinot. 

The  handsome  stranger  advanced. 

"  My  lord,  permit  me  to  present  to  you  another  friend  of  mine, 
—Mr.  O'Reilly." 

Lord  Warringdon  smiled  and  bowed,  less  graciously,  however, 
than  on  the  former  occasion ;  and  he  observed  that  the  stranger 
looked  over  at  Isabel,  and  smiled  also,  and  that  she  returned  his 
smile,  slightly  colouring. 

"  If  you  have  any  friends  at  Rome,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
mot,  "  Mr.  O'Reilly  can,  perhaps,  give  you  intelligence  of  them; 
he  is  just  returned  from  the  imperial  city,  laden  with  music,  poe- 
try,  painting,  cameos,  and  enthusiasm." 

"And  good-nature,  I  beg  you  will  add,"  interrupted  O'Reilly, 
"  for  permitting  you  to  laugh  at  me  thus,  without  quarrelling 
with  you." 

Lord  Warringdon  had  not  much  leisure  for  indulging  in  specu- 
lations concerning  Mr.  O'Reilly,  as  he  Was  obliged  to  play  the 
amiable  to  the  "  good  interests  "  scattered  in  groups  round  the 
room.  He  had  to  laugh  and  chat  with  those  he  already  knew; — 
bow  and  smile  to,  and  compliment  those  whom  he  saw  for  the 
first  time,  such  as  Lord  and  Lady  Templemore,  and  the  five 
Lady  Pembertons,  Mr.  and  Miss  Fitzgerald,  and  the  Colonel  of 
the  regiment ;  "  that  he  might  not  be  extreme  to  mark  what  was 
done  amiss"  in  the  rioting  way,  when,  with  heads  full  of  whis- 
key, and  hands  of  shilelahs,  the  freeholders  of  the  county  should 
rush  to  the  onslaught,  to  decide  whether  Lord  Warringdon  or 
Mr.  Archer  were  the  most  fitting  man  to  represent  them. 

At  length  dinner  was' announced.  Lord  Templemore  handed 
down  Lady  Anne:  Mr.  Wilmot  gave  his  arm  to  Lady  Temple- 
more, and  Lord  Warringdon,  just  as  he  was  looking  about  for 
Isabel,  was  requested  by  Lady  Anne  to  take  care  of  Lady  Mary 
Pemberton :  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  offered  his  arm  to  Isabel,  but  Lord 
W.  remarked  that  she  affected  not  to  see  it,  and,  unasked,  placed 
her  arm  within  O'Reilly's.  At  table  the  Viscount  was  flanked 
on  the  one  side  by  the  Bishopj  on  the  other  by  Lady  Mary ;  just 
opposite  to  him  was  Isabel,  between  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  and  Mr. 
O'Reilly :  she  was  in  her  best  looks,  all  grace  and  animation, 
laughing  and  chatting  with  O'^Reilly. 

"  The  confounded  little  flirt,"  muttered  his  lordship,  between 
his  teeth,  as  he  turned  round  to  see  if  he  could  not  employ  his 
time  as  agreeably  witii  his  companion  as  she  was  doing  with 
hers.  Of  this  lady  he  had  had  but  an  imperfect  glimpse  in  the 
drawing-room,  so  he  was  but  ill  prepared  for  what  he  now  saw 
in  the  full  blaze  of  light,  viz.,  a  pale,  cross-eyed,  white-haired 
girl,  with  a  neck  rivaling  in  length  that  of  the  far-famed  giraSe: 
of  the  Jardin-des-Plantes. 


CANVASSING.  105 

"  Devilishly  impertinent  of  Lady  Anne  to  place  me  near  such 
a  scarecrow  as  this."  He  surveyed  the  table ; — there  was  not  a 
face,  within  view,  worth  looking  at,  except  Isabel's ;  the  female 
party,  being-,  in  fact,  almost  made  up  of  married  women,  only 
three  girls  among  them  :  namely,  the  flirting  Isabel,  right  oppo- 
site to  him,  as  has  been  mentioned ;  Lady  Mary  Pemberton, 
close  at  his  side,  too  ugly  for  him  even  to  take  wine  with;  and 
Miss  Fitzgerald,  who,  sitting  at  a  distance,  at  his  side  of  the 
table,  he  could  not  see  at  all. 

His  lordship  felt  and  looked  much  disconcerted ;  and  his  ill- 
humour  was  not  a  little  increased  by  having,  more  than  once, 
detected  a  scrutmizing  glance  of  O'Reilly's  provokingly  fine 
eyes  directed  at  himself;  after  each  of  which  critical  regards, 
Mr.  O'Reilly  would  turn  and  say  something  in  a  low  voice  to 
Isabel,  and  Isabel  would  blush,  and  he  would  laugh  gaily :  and, 
added  to  all  this,  his  lordship's  audacious,  yet  sportive,  analyzer, 
would  again  smile  across  the  table,  into  his  lordship's  very  eyes, 
and,  in  a  kind  of  triumph,  as  it  were,  insupportable  to  his  va- 
nity. 

"  Curse  him  and  her,  too !"  muttered  the  Viscount;  "  the  artful 
little  devil :  I  always  heard  that  Irish  women  were  the  most  con- 
founded flirts  upon  earth,  and,  judging  by  Miss  Isabel  Wilmot,  I 
am  certain  it  is  a  true  saying :  the  idea  of  making  me  a  pis  aller, 
— a  somebody  to  flirt  with,  just  to  keep  her  hand  in,  when  no- 
body she  liked  better  was  here  !  and  to  be  so  near  caught  by  her 
apparently  guileless,  unsophisticated  character,  and  devoted  af- 
fection !  It  was  God's  mercy,  I  did  not,  in  a  moment  of  weak- 
ness, make  some  foolish  speech  I  could  afterwards  have  cut  my 
tongue  out  for  having  made ;  she  is  telling  him  a  pack  of  lies, 
this  moment,  I  dare  say,  about  my  admiration  of  her ;  and  making 
prodigious  sport  with  him,  for  having  continued  constant;  but 
I'll  spoil  her  game,  that  she  may  depend  on  :  I'll  not  ask  her  to 
dance,  even,  I  am  determined  :  confound  her,  again  I  I  never  saw 
such  a  piece  of  deceit  in  all  my  life." 

The  Catholic  Bishop  had  to  repeat  an  observation  twice  to  this 
candidate  for  one  of  the  most  Catholic  counties  in  Ireland,  so 
completely  was  the  politician  absorbed  in  the  man. 

He,  the  dangerous  Warringdon !  for  whose  attentions  the  love- 
liest and  most  fashionable  were  contending,  to  be  placed  by  a 
gawky  fright  nobody  knew,  and  the  beauty  of  the  company  sit- 
ting opposite,  her  whole  heart,  tongue,  and  eyes  engrossed  by 
another !     It  was  an  insult  not  to  be  borne  ! 

"  Have  you  secured  Mr.  Mc  Alpine's  interest,  my  lord?"  in- 
quired the  Bishop,  for  the  third  time. 

"Oh,  yes;  he  and  Lady  Anne  intend  this;  he  shall  marry  her» 
--but " 


106  CANVASSING. 

"  I  heg  your  pardon,  my  lord,"  interrupted  the  Bishop,  smiUngf, 
"  that  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question :  I  was  not  asking-  whether 
Mr.  Mc  Alpine  intended  bestowino^  himself  on  Miss  Wilmot,  but 
whether  he  intended  bestowing  his  votes  on  your  lordship." 

"A  thousand  pardons,  my  lord,  I  misunderstood,"  returned  the 
Viscount,  colouring  with  indignation  against  himself,  for  the  un- 
conscious and  unintentional  proof  he  had  just  given  of  the  en- 
grossment of  his  thoughts.  "No: — I  have  repeatedly  sounded 
Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  but  have  never  yet  been  able  to  elicit  any  thing 
specific  in  the  way  of  a  promise.  Lady  Anne  tells  me,  however, 
that  he  expresses  himself  to  her  favourably  towards  me;  and 
that  he  approves  my  line  of  politics;  and  he  throws  to  me,  him- 
self, hints  about  two  brothers,  three  brothers-in-law,  and  half-a- 
dozen  cousins  in  want  of  places,  sinecures,  if  possible  !  and  I  pro- 
mise to  storm  the  treasury  for  them  ;  but  still,  some  way  or  other, 
I  can't  bring  him  to  the  point." 

"No;  I  dare  say  not,"  returned  the  Bishop;  "Mr.  Mc  Alpine 
is  a  sad,  slippery  gentleman,  in  canvassing  the  county,  I  am 
sorry  to  tell  you  :  his  vanity,  as  well  as  his  interest,  will  prevent 
his  declaring  himself  till  the  very  day  of  the  election ;  for,  besides 
making  better  terms  for  his  votes,  he  will  show  that,  whatever 
side  he  throws  his  interest  into  will  kick  the  beam,  and  he  will 
have  the  credit,  as  well  as  profit,  of  being  the  casting  voice.  Mr. 
Wilmot  could  tell  your  lordship  curious  stories  about  him; — he 
has  always  had  more  trouble  with  the  Mc  Alpine  interest  than 
the  whole  county  put  together." 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  lord,  with  regard  to  a  contest?"  asked 
liOrd  Warringdon.  "  I  was  led,  at  first,  to  suppose  there  would 
be  none ;  but,  within  the  last  week,  I  hear  that  Mr.  Archer  is 
determined  to  stand;  for  that  he  has  married  an  English  wife, 
and  no  longer  wants  the  sinews  of  war." 

"  That  is  all  true,"  observed  the  Bishop ;  "  but  money  cannot,  in 
this  county,  supply  the  want  of  interest :  we  take  an  equivalent 
for  our  votes,  indeed,  but  we  don't  exactly  sell  them  for  hard 
cash.  Now,  Mr.  Archer  stands  almost  exclusively,  as  you  are, 
of  course,  aware,  on  the  Orange  interest ;  an  interest  you  also 
know,  which,  in  this  county,  is  in  the  ratio  of  one  to  a  hundred. 
I  understand  he  has  been  coaxing  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  but  has  not,  as 
yet,  obtained  a  promise  of  marriage,  no  more  than  your  lordship; 
and,  unless  backed  by  him,  he  cannot  come  to  the  poll;  he  has 
not  even  ground  to  stand  upon." 

Here  the  Bishop's  voice  was  drowned  by  a  peal  of  laughter 
from  one  of  the  side  tables,  at  which  Maria  presided,  and  around 
"which  she  had  collected  a  band  of  choice  spirits,  composed  of 
young  men  who  had  good  interests,  young  ladies  anxious  to  stand 


.     CANVASSING.  107 

well  with  young  men  of  good  interests,  and  a  few  officers  reported 
to  be  sons  of  men  of  fortune. 

Cries  of"  Capital !  Bravo !  Miss  Wilmot,  upon  my  soul,  I  never 
heard  a  better  thing !  Miss  Wilmot,  I  give  you  credit  for  that ! 
you  are  a  larking  girl !  you  are  a  knowing  one  !"  were  vociferated 
amidst  shouts  of  laughter,  to  which,  however,  Mr.  Barham  did 
not  lend  a  note;  and  a  gentle  tittering,  accompanied  by  exclama- 
tions of,  "  How  droll !  how  pleasant  Miss  Wilmot  is !"  proved  satis- 
factorily to  the  company  that  Miss  Wilmot's  wit,  though  so  noi- 
sily applauded  by  the  gentlemen,  nevertheless,  was  not  of  a  de- 
scription to  shock  the  ladies  of  the  party. 

We  would  fain  hope  that  our  gentle  reader  takes  sufficient 
interest  in  our  fun-hunting  friend,  Mr.  Barham,  to  regret  his 
absence  from  the  laughing  band,  and  to  have  felt  both  regret  and 
surprise  at  a  fact  so  inconsistent  with  the  above-mentioned  gen- 
tleman's usual  line  of  conduct.  Nor  do  we  hesitate  to  doubt  that 
our  said  gentle  reader  is  busy  in  conjectures  as  to  the- why  and 
wherefore  of  this  extraordinary  circumstance.  "  Has  the  poor 
young  man  met  an  untimely  end  ]  tumbled  over  a  precipice,  or 
tumbled  into  a  bog-hole]  has  he  fallen  a  victim  to  the  typhus, 
(cholera  was  not  then  in  vogue,)  or  to  a  fit  of  laughter  ?  In  a 
word,  what  has  become  of  him?  something  must  have  occurred. 
He  never  surely  would  voluntarily  have  quitted  the  festivities  of 
Castle  Wilmot;  and  if  at  Castle  Wilmot,  he  would  as  surely  have 
made  one  at  the  merry  side-table  party."  In  this  manner  do  we 
imagine  our  reader  to  cogitate— and  we  feel  considerable  pleasure 
in  being  able  to  relieve  his  mind  of  all  anxiety  concerning  our 
good-natured  friend.  He  has  been  neither  "  clifted  nor  bogged," 
neither  dead  of  typhus  fever  nor  of  laughing.  He  is  at  Castle 
Wilmot,  although  not  one  of  the  side-table  party — and  the  only 
reason  he  is  not  there  is  that  he  is  somewhere  else — to  wit, 
at  the  principal  table,  seated,  by  Lady  Anne's  arrangement,  near 
Miss  Fitzgerald.  "Nothing  like  contrast,"  thought  her  lady- 
ship— and  her  ladyship  thought  right,  "  he  will  relish  Maria's 
funny  stories  more  than  ever  after  Miss  Fitzgerald's  aphorisma" 
With  peals  of  laughter  ringing  in  his  ears,  this  votary  of  fun  was, 
therefore,  doomed,  sore  against  his  will,  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
wisdom  from  the  rnby  lips  of  the  fair  Eliza.  Understanding  from 
Lady  Anne,  that  Mr.  Barham  was  a  young  man  of  fortune,  fresh 
from  the  university.  Miss  Fitzgerald,  having  associated,  it  appears, 
very  little  with  young  gentlemen  from  college,  imagined  she 
should  have  a  delightful  chat  on  classical  literature  with  Mr. 
Barham,  and  receive  some  learned  elucidations  of  passages  which 
had  puzzled  her. 

"  Pray,  may  I  ask,"  she  said,  in  the  sweetest  of  sweet  brogues 


108  CANVASSING. 

imaginable,  "  may  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Barham,  whether  you  considef 
Bloomfield's  edition  of  ^schylus  a  good  one,  or  whether  you 
would  recommend  any  other." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Barham — "I  think  one  edi* 
tion  is  just  as  good  as  another  ;  I  never  could  see  any  difference, 
for  my  part." 

"  Perhaps  not  in  the  text,  but  with  respect  to  the  commenta- 
ries ;  you  surely  find  some  of  them  much  clearer,  fuller,  and 
more  satisfactory  than  others  3" 

"  I  declare  I  don't  know  whether  they  are  or  not,  for  I  never 
read  any,"  he  replied. 

"  Of  course  you  would  not  require  the  same  explanations  that 
I  should,  but  still  there  are  so  many  difficulties  arising  from 
allusions  to  national  customs,  and  expressions,  and  political 
events,  the  influence  of  which,  being  confined  within  narrow 
limits,  although  at  a  former  time  of  local  importance,  have  not 
fallen  under  the  notice  of  the  historian ; — and  these  points 
would  be  obscure  to  the  most  perfect  classical  scholar. — How 
much  we  are  indebted  to  the  scholiasts !  but  for  those  learned 
men,  how  little  of  the  ancient  literature  would  have  descended 
to  posterity  I — Oh !  long  ago,  the  greater  part  of  it  must  have 
been  consigned  to  oblivion  !" 

"  You  are  quite  right.  Miss  Fitzgerald,— I  wish  to  heaven  it 
had,"  cried  Barham,  who  had  heard  only  the  last  sentence  of  the 
foregoing  speech ; — his  attention  during  the  first  part  of  the  ha- 
rangue having  been  engaged  in  conjecturing  what  funny  story 
Miss  Wilmot  could  be  telling. 

"  You  are  quite  right ;  I  should  be  devilish  glad,  I  assure  you, 
that  every  Greek  and  Latin  book  in  the  world  had  been  lost  long 
ago, — stupid  pack  of  trash  !" — 

Miss  Fitzgerald  opened  her  fine  eyes  in  amazement. 
•'  Oh,  Miss  Fitzgerald,  you  are  Irish.     Will  you  do  me  a  great 
favour." 

"  If  it  is  in  my  power,"  politely  answered  the  young  lady  ; 
though  not  now  hoping,  as  some  minutes  before  she  had  done, 
that  the  favour  asked  would  be  a  request  to  be  permitted  to  look 
at  her  Italian  translation  of  Xenophon's  defence  of  Socrates; 
a  morceau  of  which  every  body  acquainted  with  the  Fitzge- 
rald family  had  heard ; — and  as  the  Fitzgerald  family  included 
half  the  county,  Miss  Fitzgerald  thought  that  it  included  half  the 
world. 

Mr.  Barham  might,  however,  entreat  her  to  favour  him  with  a 
little  music  by  and  by ; — he  had  heard  doubtless  of  her  proficiency 
as  a  pianiste. 

"  What  is  this  favour,  Mr.  Barham  1"  said  she. 


CXNVASStKG.  109 

''^  Oh!  ibat  you  would  tell  me  gome  droll  etor'y  to  make  mo 
kugh,  like  Miss  Wilmot, — will  you  J  I  ehould  be  so  much  obliged 
to  you  !  They  shan't  have  all  the  laughing  to  themselves  at  the 
other  table,  shall  they  1 — 

Miss  Fitzgerald  was  absolutely  petrified,  she,  the  best  piano- 
forte player ;  the  best  French  and  Italian,  and  Ihe  only  Greek, 
scholar  in  the  county  ;  to  be  asked  to  tell  funny  stories,  to  make 
people  laugh  !-^ 

"I  never  tell  funny  stories,  Mr.  Barhani,"  she  replied,  giving 
him  a  look  that  would  have  done  honour  to  Minerva  hereelf,  so 
fraught  was  it  with  wisdom  and  indignation. 

"Oh,  don't  you!"  he  ran  on. — "What  a  pity! — I  took  into 
my  head,  somehow,  you  were  quite  an  Irish  girl ;— never  having 
been  out  of  Ireland,  as  lady  Anne  told  me; — so  I  made  sure  I 
should  liud  you  as  funny  again  as  Miss  Wilmot." 

"Now,  we  are  told  comparisv)ns  are  alvx-ays  odious,  but  of  all 
comparisons  those  between  ladies  arc  the  most  odious, — and  if 
there  be  such  a  thing  as  the  superlative  of  a  superlative,  the  com- 
parison just  made  was,  to  the  person  addressed,  the  mostodiousof 
the  most  odious.  The  greatest  insult,  in  fact,  that  could  be  of- 
fered to  Eliza  Fitzgerald  waste  compare  her  vi'ith  Maria  Wilmot, 
whom  she  envied  tor  her  popularity,  though  she  despised  the 
means  by  which  she  had  attained  it;  disapproving,  at  the  same 
time,  her  conduct,  and  resenting  iier  ridicule. 

"  What  a  senseless,  tasteless  inane  young  man  !"  thought  Miss 
Fitzgerald. 

"  What  a  stoopid  girl  she  is,  to  be  sure  !"  muttered  Mr.  Bar- 
ham,  as  he  turned  from  side  to  siuc,  and  loaned  back  in  his  chair, 
in  imminent  danger  of  dislocating  the  dorsal  vertebrse,  so  great 
was  his  eagerness  to  catch  a  word  of  what  was  going  forward  at 
the  side  table.  The  conversation  between  this  well-matched 
pair  began  to  flag,  and  soon  ceased  altogether. 

Shortly  after,  the  ladies  withdrew,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  the 
gentlemen,  and  to  their  shame  be  it  spoken. 

For  some  time  after,  the  candidate  drank,  and  laughed,  and 
listened  to  stories,  "capital  stories;"  did  a:l  in  his  power,  in  fact, 
to  appear  a  right  good  fellow.  As  soon,  however,  as  he  could  do 
go,  with  propriety  and  due  attention  to  his  reputation,  iie  eflpctcd 
his  escape  to  the  drawing-room  ;  the  bishop  and  Mr.  O'Reilly, 
he  perceived,  having  previously  made  their  retreat. 

Loud  peals  of  laughter  pursued  him  almost  to  the  drawing- 
room  door;  but,  just  as  he  was  about  to  enter  it,  sounds  of  a  dff- 
lerent  nature  met  his  ear,  that  is  to  say,  the  soft,  clear  notes 
of  a  female  voice,  supported  and  strengthened  by  the  mellow 

10  > 


no  CANVA9SIKG, 

tones  of  a  deep,  rich  tenor,  raodulated  into  the  most  exquisite  har- 
mony. 

"  Who  can  these  be  ]"  thought  he.  He  went  in,  and  saw 
that  the  singers  were  Isabel  Wilmot  and  her  admirer,  Mr. 
O'Reilly. 

Now,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  it  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  heard  Isabel  sing.  Her  mother,  aware  how  much  the  im- 
pression, in  those  cases  depends  upon  surprise  and  effect,  had  al- 
ways discovered  that  her  daughter  had  a  cold,  or  was  out  of  voice, 
whenever  his  lordship  proposed  music :  and,  by  these  means,  she 
accomplished  two  desirable  objects ;  first,  the  augmentation  of 
his  curiosity ;  second,  a  proof  of  ber  total  indifference  about 
showing  off  her  daughter  to  bim. 

Lord  Warringdon  bad  a  good  deal  of  factitious  feeling,  of  that 
morbid  excitability  of  temperament  which  would  bring  tears  to 
his  eyes  at  a  finely-executed  air  by  Pasta,  though  he  might  hear, 
unmoved,  of  the  death  of  a  friend  ;  on  the  present  occasion,  so 
pleased  and  touched  was  he  by  the  singers,  that  he  momentarily 
forgot  the  sins  of  the  individuals. 

"Bravo,  bravo!  Signora!  Bravo,  Signer!"  he  cried. 

*'  Ha  !"  exclaimed  Isabel,  with  pleased  surprise ;  "  'tis  you, 
my  lord  ?  you  have  left  the  dining-room  early.' 

"  And  should  have  come  away  much  earlier,  had  I  the  least 
idea  I  should  have  heard  such  music.  Why  did  you  not  give  me 
a  hint,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  and  bring  me  with  you  1  I  have  frequently 
petitioned  Miss  Isabel  Wilmot  to  sing,  but  never  could  prevail  on 
her,  however,  to  do  so ;  but  if  I  had  once  got  in,  she  could  not 
well  turn  me  out;  and  then  I  might  have  had  the  benefit  of  her 
desire  to  oblige  you,"  said  he,  in  a  cold,  offended  tone. 

"Is  this  a  true  bill,  Signora  Isabellal"  demanded  Mr.  O'Reilly. 
"Has  Lord  Warringdon  asked  you  to  sing,  and  have  you  been 
churl  enough  to  refuse]" 

Here  Lady  Anne  touched  Lord  Warringdon's  arm: — "Just 
look  at  Mc  Alpine  !" 

"  What  for  ?"  asked  his  lordship,  rather  ill-humouredly. 

"  See  how  proud  he  looks,  poor  fellow,  of  Isabel's  performance! 
She  always  sings  so  well  with  O'Reilly." 

"I  dare  say  she  does,"  assented  the  Viscount,  significantly. 

"Isabel,  my  love,"  said  her  mother,  "look  out  another  duett, 
quick,  before  the  crowd  pours  in.  O'Reilly,  you  know,  don't  like 
singing  in  general  company :"  then,  lowering  her  voice,  "  sing 
the  air  Mc  Alpine  likes  so  much; — he  is  quite  delighted  with 
you  this  evening,  I  can  tell  you." 

Lord  Warringdon  overheard  this,  and  observed  O'Reilly  smile, 
as  he  whispered  to  Isabel,  who  appeared  to  hesitate. 


CANVASSING.  Ill 

**  I  was  just  ofoing  to  sing  somethinor  Lord  Warringdon  asked 
rae  for,"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  Do  as  I  desire  you,  my  dear,"  rejoined  her  mother,  in  an  af- 
fectionately peremptory  tone. 

Mr.  Mc  Alpine  now  placed  himself  in  his  usual  position,  when 
listening  to  the  lady  of  his  love;  that  is,  stretched  across  the  in- 
strument, staring  her  full  in  the  face,  and  beating  time  out  of 
time. 

"  How  that  poor  girl  is  persecuted !"  observed  O'Reilly,  in  a 
commiserating  tone,  to  Lord  Warringdon,  glancing  at  Mc  Al- 
pine. 

"  How  do  you  know  the  lady  considers  it  persecution "?"  asked 
the  Viscount,  coldly ;  "  unless  Miss  Wilmot  be  an  exception  to 
her  sex,  she  will  not  consider  admiration  as  persecution." 

"Recollect  that  admiration,  in  this  case,  is  coupled  with  the 
pretensions  of  a  suitor,"  said  O'Reilly. 

"  I  dont't  see  how  that  should  make  the  admiration  less  ac- 
ceptable;—  I  always  understood  the  grand  object  of  young  ladies 
was  to  convert  their  suitors  into  husbands." 

"  Yes,"  replied  O'Reilly,  "  when  they  don't  happen  to  like 
somebody  else." 

"  And  pray  who  may  the  happy  man  be,  who  is  favoured  by 
Miss  Isabel  Wilmot's  attachment  1"  said  the  Viscount,  sarcasti- 
cally. 

O'Reilly  smiled-  "  Oh,  that's  a  secret,  my  lord,  I  can  never 
reveal  till  the  lady  gives  me  permission." 

Lord  Warringdon  repaid  him  with  one  of  his  searching  looks. 

O'Reilly  hummed  a  few  bars  of  an  old  Venetian  Barcarolle, 

"What  a  cursed  puppy !"  thought  the  noble  Viscount;  "and 
the  mother  such  a  blind  buzzard  as  not  to  perceive  what  is  going 
on  between  him  and  her  coquette  of  a  daughter." 

"  Isabel,  my  love,"  cried  Lady  Anne,  "  let  O'Reilly  hear  your 
harp  once  more;  it  used  to  be  his  favourite  instrument." 

Though  the  harp  was  close  to  the  sofa  upon  which  my  lord 
was  lounging,  biting  his  lips,  he  never  rose  to  carry  it  towards 
its  beautiful  owner,  and  the  lady  and  her  harp  might  both  have 
tumbled  down,  for  any  thing  he  cared,  in  his  present  mood.  "A 
more  impertinent  woman  than  that  Lady  Anne  I  never  met;  if 
I  was  a  married  man,  or  a  half-pay  officer,  she  could  not  have 
treated  me  with  more  perfect  indifference, — more  downright 
disrespect,  than  she  has  done  ever  since  I  came  into  her  house; 
she  has  not  even  let  her  daughter  play,  or  sing,  for  me !  upon  my 
word,  not  a  mother  duchess  in  England  woul^  presume  to  treat 
me  thus !" 


112 


CANVASSING. 


While  he  was  thus  vvrathfully  ruminating,  h\a  attention,  spite 
of  himself,  was  arrested  by  Isabel's  playing;.  Her  execution  waa 
not  remarkable  for  rapidity,  but  her  touch,  was  beautif«l,  so  full 
and  round,  yet  soft,  clear,  and  bell-like.  Then  her  style  was 
charged  with  sentiment  and  delivery,  and  her  expression  ex- 
quisite, rendered  more  touching  even  than  usual,  by  her  an-xiety 
to  interest  one  in  that  room  whom  ehe  perceived,  for  some  cause 
or  other  she  could  not  divine,  was  displeased  with  her. 

The  appeal  was  not  made  in  vain.  As  we  have  before  said, 
loord  VVarringdon  had  a  good  deal  of  musical  feeling.  Ho  lis- 
tened for  some  time  in  admiration  of  the  performance,  without, 
however,  deigning  to  look  at  the  performer.  At  length,  he  suf- 
fered Ills  eyes,  to  rest  on  the  fair  musician. 

Now,  Isabel  Wilmot  had  a  very  pretty  little  f(3ot,  and  a  singu* 
larly  beautiful  hand  and  arm  ;  and  the  fall  of  her  shoulders  was 
always  considered  peculiarly  graceful ;  for  all  these  good  reasons 
her  mother  had  selected  the  harp,  as- her  instrument;  and,  for  the 
same  good  reasons.  Lord  Warringdon  thought,  as  he  now  gazed 
on  her,  that  Lady  Anne  had  evinced  much  jodgment  in  her  se- 
lection. "A  man  might  love  such  a  creature  as  that,"  sa,id  he  to 
himself,  "  if  she  were  not  such  a  confounded  little  flirt!" 

Carriages  were  heard  rolling  round  to  the  entrance,  and  a  ge- 
neral movement  took  place,  vvhich  disturbed  the  current  of  his 
lordship's  thoughts,  or,  probably,  he  might  have  ended  by  perfect- 
ly reconciling  himself  to  the  fair  Isabel,  and  have  been  induced, 
even  contrary  to  his  determination,  to  open  the  ball  with  her. 

As  soon  as  the  music  struck  up,  Mr.  Barham,and  all  the  young 
officers,  and  as  many  of  the  country  gentlemen  as  had  heads  in 
dancing  condition,  made  their  appearance  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Wilmot,  such  fun  as  I  have  had  !"  said  Mr.  Barhain, 
holding  his  sides,  '  ready  to  die;'  "such  fun!  Mr,  Molony  has 
just  knocked  me  down." 

•'  Knocked  you  down  !  why,  how  did  it  happen]" 

"  Oh,  not  in  earnest,  you  know ;  he  was  just  showing  me  how 
he  knocked  down  Mr.  McAlpine,  one  day,  and  he  fetched  me 
such  a  thump  on  my  shoulder,  that  I  fell  under  the  table!  ah,  I 
laughed  so,  I  thought  I  should  have  died  !  so  Irish  !" 

*^  You  are  not  hurt  then  1"  observed  Maria. 

"  No,  only  a  little  stiff,  but  dancing  will  set  me  to  rights  im- 
mediately.    Are  you  engaged  this  quadrille,  Miss  Wilmot  1" 

Maria  infofraed  him  that  she  was. 

"How  tiresome!  well,  will  you  introduce  me  to  a  partner, 
then  ?  a  funny  one^  you  know." 

"  I  think,"  observed  Maria,  "  that  you  ought  to  dance  with  Miss 
Fitzgerald,  as  you  sat  near  her  at  dinner. 


CANVASSING.  113 

Barham  recoiled  in  horror — "  Oh,  not  if  you  were  to  give  mc  a 
thousand  pounds,  Miss  VVilmot !" 

"  Upon  my  word,  1  pity  you  much,"  Maria  said,  laughing' : 
"Why,  Miss  Fitzgerald  is  the  beauty,  as  well  as  the  genius,  of 
the  country.  She  reads  Greek,  and  writes  poetry,  you  must 
know." 

"  I  don't  care  whether  she  does  or  no,"  he  replied,  rather  dog- 
gedly— "  I  got  enough  of  her  at  dinner,  I  can  tell  you.  What  do 
you  say  to  her  talking  all  the  time  about  Greek  and  Latin  ;  and 
when  I  asked  her  for  a  funny  story,  she  stared  at  me  as  if  I  had  a 
hundred  heads  !  Disagreeable  girl !  I  would  sooner  not  dance 
all  night,  than  dance  with  her.  What  laughing  you  had,  all  of 
you,  at  the  other  table !  How  I  did  wish  to  be  among  you !  you 
will  not  forget  to  tell  me  what  it  was  all  about  to-morrow  ?  Oh  ! 
Miss  Wilmot,  make  haste  and  introduce  me  to  some  funny  girl  or 
other,  for  the  quadrille  is  already  beginning." 

"Will  you  have  one  of  the  Miss  O'lliggertys?" 
■    "  Oh  yes !  that's  such  a  nice  Irish  name !  I'm  sure  I  should 
like  one  of  them." 

Maria  led  him  up  to  the  eldest  Miss  O'Higgerty ;  daughter  tc» 
the  well-known  attorney  of  that  name,  who,  together  with  his  fa- 
mily, were  invited  ostensibly  to  secure  his  services  at  the  ap- 
proaching election,  to  Lord  Warringdon,  but  those  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  Wilmots  were  aware  that  the  fact  of  Mr. 
O'Higgerty  having  some  heavy  untaxed  bills  of  costs  against  the 
Castle  Wilmot  estate  had  a  considerable  share  in  obtaining  for 
himself,  and  his  four  bouncing,  red-cheeked  daughters,  admittance 
among  the  "tip-top  grandees  "of  the  county. 

"I  don't  like  quadrilles  and  waltzes,  at  all,"  observed  Mr. 
Barham,  to  his  partner,  "  but  Miss  Wilmot  has  promised  to  let  us 
dance  jigs  by  and  by.  That  will  bo  much  pleasanter,  will  it 
not?" 

"  Jigs  !"  echoed  the  young  lady,  with  a  look  of  consternation. 
"How  could  Miss  Wilmot  think  of  such  a  thing?  The  idaa  !  for 
mercy's  sake,  who  ever  heard  of  dancing  jio^s  in  company  ?" 

"A  jig!"  cried  one — "a  jig!"  repeated  another — and  "jig! 
jig!  jig!"  ran  round  the  room,  in  all  imaginable  varieties  of  tone 
and  accent,  expressive  of  amazement. 

"  So  you  should  not  like  to  dance  a  jig  V  continued  Mr.  Bar- 
ham. "I  wonder  at  that — I  should  have  thought  you  just  the 
girl  to  enjoy  it!  such  a  regular  Irish  name  !  and  such  a  capital 
brogue  and  all !" 

The  young  lady  answered  with  some  little  warmth — "  What 
an  idaa  you  must  have  of  Ireland,  Mr.  Rirham  !  good  Irish  socie- 
ty, you  know,  is  just  the  same  as  English — no  difference  in  life — 
10* 


114 


OAKVASMNG^ 


I  hope  you  dont't  form  so  unfavourable  an  idaa  of  us  as  to  rma' 
gine  you  would  see  any  thing  in  good  society  in  Ireland  different 
from  what  you  would  see  in  England  I" 

"  Well,  1  declare,  I  can't  understand  that  at  all,"  replied  Mr. 
Barham.  "  If  I  were  an  Irishman,  I  should  always  be  trying  to 
be  as  Irish  as  possible.  I  would  dress,  and  dance,  and  talk,  and 
walk,  and  eat,  and  drink,  and  live  differently  from  every  botiy 
else  in  the  world,  so  that  the  moment  I  came  into  a  room,  people 
would  say,  I'm  sure  that  gentleman  must  be  Irish.  I  would  just 
go  on  the  way  they  do  in  a  play.  I  would  be  always  swearing, 
and  saying  funny  things,  and  fighting  duels,  and  running  in  debt, 
and  in  fact,  doing  all  sorts  of  out  of  the  way  things.  My  good- 
ness! what's  the  use  of  being  Irish,  if  one  does  just  the  same  as 
if  one  was  English — so  very  stupid  that  would  be!" 

"  I  don't  think  gentility  can  ever  be  stupid,"  Miss  O'Higgerty 
replied,  with  a  toss  of  her  head — "  at  laste,  according  to  my 
idaas.  God  forbid  I'd  ever  see  the  day  that  Irish  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen would  be  different  from  other  ladies  and  gentlemen — 
God  forbid  I'd  ever  see  them  put  themselves  upon  an  aquality 
with  the  peasantry  of  the  country,  and  dance  jigs  !  There's  rason 
in  every  thing,  Mr.  Barham." 

Now  all  this  time,  Mr.  Barham  had  not  been  listening  to  a 
single  word  that  she  was  saying;  his  whole  attention  having 
been  absorbed  watching  Maria  Wilmot  and  her  partner,  (who 
happened  to  be  his  vis  a  vis,)  as  they  talked  and  laughed  toge- 
ther, and  he  was  very  sinfully  envying  their  gaiety,  and  puz- 
zling his  poor  brains  in  conjecture  as  to  what  it  was  all  about. 

Lord  Warringdon,  much  to  his  surprise  during  the  evening, 
had  not  observed,  among  the  dancers,  the  gay  admirer  of  his  ad- 
mired Isabel.  Yet  he  could  not  have  been  flirting  with  her^ 
for  she  had  danced  every  set.  What  could  have  become  of 
him  I 

The  Viscount  strolled  into  the  card-room,  and  there  he  found 
Mr.  O'Reilly,  and  Lady  Anne,  talking  so  earnestly,  that  he  had 
come  close  enough  to  distinguish  his  own  name,  pronounced  in  a 
laughing  tone,  by  Mr.  O'Reilly,  before  either  of  them  was  aware 
of  his  approach. 

Lady  Anne  rose.  "  Can  you  tell  me,  my  lord,  whom  Isabel  is 
dancing  withl" 

"  I  really  did  not  happen  to  observe,"  he  carelessly  replied. 

For  once  in  his  life,  at  least,  the  young  gentleman  did  not  tell 
the  truth.  He  knew  perfectly  well,  not  only  who  Isabel  was 
then  dancing  with,  but  had  observed  who  had  been  her  partners 
throughout  Uie  eveniog.    Neither  bad  he  failed  to  remark  that 


CANVASSING.  115 

she  had  danced  languidly.  "  Because,"  thought  he,  "  O'Reilly 
is  not  near  her." 

"  How  comes  it,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  that  you  are  not  dancing  this 
evening]"  Lord  VVarringdon  said,  as  they  now  stood  together, 
looking  on  at  a  whist  party. 

"  f  never  dance,  mv  lord." 

"You  do  not  like  ill" 

"  Yes,  1  liked  it,  when  a  boy." 

'^  It  is  not  your  years,  however,  that  need  prevent  you  now,  I 
should  imagine]"  said  the  Viscount,  smiling. 

"  No,  not  exactly  my  years ;  but  it  is  not  usual  i&r  men  of  my 
profession,  at  any  age  to  dance," 

"A  young  barrister,  I  suppose,"  thought  Lord  Warringdon. 
"I  was  not  aware,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  that  the  Irish  bar  was  under 
such  absurd  shackles  of  convaiances  P'^ 

"  Nor  are  they,  I  imagine,"  Mr.  O'Reilly  replied. 

"  Except  in  proscribing  waltzes  and  quadrilles,"  the  Viscount 
answered. 

"  You  have  been  misinformed  in  that  respect,  my  lord.  Bar- 
risters may  waltz  all  night  if  they  please,  provided  they  gain 
their  client's  cause  in  the  morning;  perhaps,  even  they  have  a 
better  chance  of  persuading  twelve  sober,  steady  men  out  of  their 
senses,  from  having  the  evening  before  succeeded  in  making  fools 
of  a  dozen  or  two  of  pretty  girls." 

"  Why  do  you  not  try  its  efficacy  yourself,  then  ]"  the  Viscount 
asked. 

"  i  would,  if  the  causes  /  had  to  plead,  my  lord,  were  of  a  na- 
ture to  be  assisted  by  talking  nonsense  to  young  ladies." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  you  are  a  sober  chancery  lawyer!" 

Mr.  O'Reilly  looked  surprised. 

'*  I  thought  that  your  lordship  was  aware  of  my  profession — I 
am  a  Roman  Cathalic  clergyman." 

"  You !"  Lord  Warringdon  exclaimed,  looking  in  his  turn 
astonished,  and  not  a  little  pleased  also — "You!  a  Catholic 
priest !  I  never  should  have  thought  so." 

"  No  1  Is  my  appearance  then  so  very  unclerical,  my  lord  ?" 
Mr.  O'Reilly  inquired,  smilingly. 

"  Humph  !  I  don't  exactly  know  how  to  answer  that  question. 
A  man  need  not  certainly  be  a  worse  priest  for  happening  at  the 
same  time  to  be  a  good-looking  fellow;  and  singing  as  if  he  were 
in  the  land  of  song  ;  and  talking  to  pretty  girls;  but  someway,  if 
I  were  a  Catholic  husband,  I  should  rather  my  wife  had  any  other 
confessor." 

O'Reilly  coloured,  and  answered  gravely — "If  you  were  a 
Catholic  husband,  my  lord,  you  would  know  better,  I  hope,  than 


Il6  CANVASSING. 

you  seem  to  do  at  present  what  are,  and  wliat  are  not,  the  quali- 
fications to  be  avoided  in  a  confessor — and  wliether  Catholic,  or 
Protestant,  I  hope  you  may  never  marry  a  woman  you  might  not 
trust  with  a  person  more  dangerous  than  myself,  if  I  were  a  mere 
man  of  the  world.  But  I  should  think,  my  lord,  that  you  need  not 
fear  any  rival,"  he  added,  politely. 

The  Viscount  bowed,  and  smiled — and  after  a  short  pause,  re- 
sumed the  conversation. 

"  Do  you  know,  that  I  imagined,  you  were  the  accepted  lover 
of  the  young  lady  you  sat  next  at  dinner  to-day." 

"Excellent!  Oh,  come,  I  shall  tell  her  that  directly,"  said 
O'Reilly,  laughing.  "  Well,  certainly  I  must  have  played  my 
role  of  confidante  to  perfection,  since  I  appeared  so  interested, 
and  sympathizing,  as  to  be  taken  for  the  lover  himself!" 

"  But  who  is  this  loverl"  the  Viscount  inquired. 

Mr.  O'Reilly  gave  him  one  of  those  scrutinizing  looks  which 
had  so  much  provoked  his  lordship  during  the  former  part  of  the 
day. 

"  Is  it  any  body  I  know'?"  Lord  Warringdon  continued. 

"  You  may  think  that  you  know  him,  my  lord.  But,  come, 
come,  you  must  not  tamper  with  the  secrets  of  the  confessional, 
you  know — besides,  I  want  to  see  this  fair  mistress  of  mine." 

Lord  Warringdon  took  O'Reilly's  arm,  and  they  returned  to- 
gether to  the  ball-room. 

Isabel  was  making  the  tour  of  the  apartments  with  her  partner, 
on  whom,  however,  she  appeared  to  bestow  less  than  her  usual  at- 
tention, whilst  he,  on  his  part,  was  all  assiduity.  Lord  War- 
rino-don  remarked  that  Isabel  frequently  looked  uneasily  around 
her^  as  if  in  search  of  somebody,  and  when,  at  length  their  eyes 
met,  that  hers  were  instantly  withdrawn,  and  that  turning  to  the 
young  officer,  her  late  partner,  (who  was,  by  the  way,  eldest  son 
of  an^English  baronet,  of  very  large  fortune,  in  the  north  of  Eng- 
land,) she  talked,  and  laughed,  and  did  all  in  her  power  to  evince 
perfect  indifference  to  his  approach,  and  although  she  saw  him 
elbowintr  his  way  to  her,  followed  by  O'Reilly,  never  conde- 
scended to  look  at,  or  smile  upon  him. 

"Will  you  dance  the  next  quadrille  with  mel"  the  Viscount 
said,  in  his  softest  tone,  and  with  his  sweetest  smile. 

"I  regret  that  I  am  engaged  for  the  whole  evening,  my  lord," 
she  replied,  with  a  graceful,  haughty  movement  of  her  pretty 
head,  which  Lord  Warringdon  thought  quite  bewitching,  her 
displeasure  arising,  as  he  saw  clearly,  from  pique  at  his  previous 
inattention. 

"  She  has  spirit,  I  see,  as  well  as  tenderness,"  said  the  Viscount 
to  himself— and  he  liked  her  the  better.    He  would  soon  have 


CANVASSING.  117 

tired  of  an  affection  tliat  could  not  have  been  piqned.  He,  there- 
fore, felt,  as  well  as  looked,  disappointed  at  Isabel's  answer. 

"  Yon  are  not  engaged  for  the  whole  of  the  evening,  surely  T' 
he  said  in  a  low,  gentle  voice.  "  You  must  dance  once  at  least 
with  me,  or  I  shall  think  that  I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  offend 
you ;  and  that  would  give  me  real  concern." 

He  looked  so  sorry,  and  so  handsome,  that  it  was  quite  impos- 
sible for  Isabel  to  keep  up  her  dignity  any  longer. 

"  If  you  are  disengaged  then  for  the  eighth  quadrille,  my  lord, 
I  shall  be  very  happy  to  dance  it  with  you,"  trying  to  repeat 
these  words  of  course,  as  if  tliey  were  but  words  of  course  to 
her. 

"I  cannot  but  admire  the  composure  with  which  you  dispose 
of  yourself,  withoHt  asking  my  consent,"  said  O'Reilly,  with 
mock  gravity. 

"Your  consent!"  repeated  Isabel,  "pray  why  should  I  ask 
your  consent  ]  I  am  not  one  of  your  flock,  am  I  ]" 

"  Not  one  of  my  flock,  indeed  !  don't  you  know  that  I  have 
even  higher  authority  over  you  than  that  of  priest,  or  confessor 
— that  is  to  say  the  authority  of  an  affianced  husband  1" 

"  What  on  earth,  are  you  talking  about]"  Isabel  asked  with 
surprise. 

"  And  how  is  it  possible.  Miss  Isabel  Wilmot,  that  you  can 
have  the  face  to  deny  that  I  am  yoiir  lover,  the  secret  and  fa- 
voured rival  of  mamma's  knight  of  the  castle]  you  need  not 
mind  le  beau  viscount  here — for  he  knows  all  about  it — in  fact, 
he  was  the  first  to  discover  our  attachment — so  acknowledge  the 
truth  at  once,  and  I  dare  say  he  will  use  his  influence  in  our  be^ 
lialf,  and  induce  mamma  to  consent  to  our  secret  union]  come,  my 
gentle,  blushing,  Isabel,  speak  to  our  friend."  And  he  imitatecl 
the  tone  and  look  of  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  so  perfectly,  that,  notwith- 
standing Isabel's  embarrassment  at  some  of  the  allusions  in  Mr. 
O'Reilly's  speech,  she  joined  in  Lord  Warringdon's  laugh.  But 
though  somewhat  confused,  she  was  also  made  very  happy  by 
this  same  speech,  finding  in  it  a  clew  to  her  lover's  sudden  change 
of  manner  towards  her. 

Lady  Anne  joined  the  group. 

'^  My  lord,  if  you  are  not  engaged  this  set,  I  wish  you  would 
allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  a  young  lady." 

"  My  dear  lady  Anne,  what  else  have  you  been  wishing,  and 
doing,  all  night,  than  inflicting  young  ladies  upon  me]  and,  by 
the  way,  a  more  diabolically  hideous  set  of  young  ladies  I  never 
had  the  felicity  to  encounter.  I  really  must  sit  this  quadrille,  or 
I  shall  die,  and,  moreover,  have  to  lay  my  death  at  your  door. 
Only  think,  how  it  \\'\\\  figure  in  the  Morning  Post — '  On  the 


118   .  CANVASSING. 

25th  of  this  month,  died  at  Castle  VVilmot,  in  the  county  of 

Viscount  Warringdon,  eldest  son  of  Earl  Glenville,  of  a  surfeit 
of  ugly  partners.'  " 

"Oh,  come,  nonsense,"  Lady  Anne  said,  laughing-,  and  walk- 
ing him  away.  "  What  does  it  signify  about  the  daughters' 
looks,  if  you  get  the  fathers'  votes  ]  I  think  it  a  cheap  purchase, 
for  my  part." 

•'  You  do  ?  I  have  not,  then,  the  honour  of  agreeing  with  you. 
But  do  tell  me  how  it  happens  that  your  women  are  not  prettier 
in  this  part  of  Ireland  ]  The  men,  most  of  them,  are  very  fine- 
looking  fellows,  and  have  a  good,  dashing  air  about  them,  but  the 
women  are  plain  and " 

"  Come,  come,  you  must  not  be  so  ungallant.  At  any  rate, 
you  shall  not,  this  time,  have  to  complain  of  the  want  of  attrac- 
tion in  your  partner,  for  I  am  going  to  introduce  you  to  MissFitz* 
gerald,  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  our  county." 

"Not  while  your  daughter  remains  in  it]" 

"  Oh,  Isabel  cannot  be  termed  beautiful ; — she  is  an  elegant, 
interesting  girl,  but  that  is  all ;  whereas,  Miss  Fitzgerald's  face 
and  figure  are  faultless.  But,  however,  many  agree  with  you  in 
preferring  Isabel.  Do  you  know  I  never  could  account  for  the 
extraordinary  admiration  she  has  excited,  for  I  really  and  unaf- 
fectedly have  always  considered  her  overrated.  Then,  again, 
Miss  Fitzgerald  has  much  more  acquirement  than  Isabel, — she 
speaks  seven  languages, — my  daughter  only  knows  French  and 
Italian." 

"  An  abundance,  my  dear  Lady  Anne,  for  any  woman  to  know. 
French  for  the  ball-room, — Italian  for  the  boudoir.  I  shall  bring 
in  a  bill  into  this  new  parliament  to  make  it  felony,  without  benefit 
of  clergy,  for  a  lady  to  learn  more.  These  young  ladies,  of 
seven-language  power,  are  absolute  inflictions." 

"  She  is  an  admirable  classical  scholar,  too." 

"Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  me !"  the  Viscount  ex- 
claimed, throwing  himself  into  an  attitude.  I'll  empty  all  these 
veins,  and  shed  my  dear  blood,  drop  by  drop,  to  please  or  serve 
you,  but  this  I  cannot,  dare  not  do." 

*'  You  ridiculous  creature,"  interrupted  Lady  Anne,  laughing. 
"  Come  on, — oh,  you  must,  indeed,  or  neither  she  nor  her  father 
will  ever  forgive  you." 

"  Necessity  has  no  law,"  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

He  assumed,  however,  his  most  insinuating  smile,  when  he 
asked  the  favour  of  dancing  the  next  quadrille  with  Miss  Fitz- 
gerald. 

Now  this  young  lady  was,  indeed,  not  only  a  profound  classi- 
cal scholar,  and  admirable  pianoforte  player,  but  she  was  also 


CANVASSING.  119 

tn  enlightened  politician,  and  this  branch  of  her  knowledge  she 
now  brought  forward  for  the  special  entertainment  and  edifica- 
tion of  the  new  candidate,  who,  however,  unfortunately  happened 
to  dislike  politics  as  much  as  Mr.  Barham  did  Greek:  all  the 
European  governments,  in  succession,  underwent  her  critical 
examination,  in  the  intervals  of  "  avant  deux "  and  "  chassez 
croisez^ 

"  What  a  handsome  bore  that  woman  is !"  said  the  Viscount 
to  himself,  as  he  resigned  the  learned  Eliza  to  her  new  partner. 

At  length,  the  seven  quadrilles,  which  stood  between  Isabel 
and  Lord  Warringdon's,  were  got  through,  and  he  had  just  come 
to  claim  her,  when  Lady  Anne  stepped  up  to  them. 

"  Ob,  my  lord,  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Mo  Alpine." 

"  Impossible,  my  dear  Lady  Anne,  I  am  already  engaged.'* 

"  To  whom,  may  I  ask  1" 

"  To  Miss  Isabel  Wilmot." 

"  Oh,  wiiat  does  that  signify? — Isabel  can  easily  find  another 
partner,  and  she  will  equally  give  you  credit,  for  your  good  in- 
tention in  her  favour.  You  don't,  I  suppose,  want  to  make  a 
conquest  of  her," — she  added,  laughing. 

Lord  Warringdon  felt  the  hand  on  his  arm  slightly  tremble, 
as  Lady  Anne  thus  seemed  so  quietly  to  take  for  granted  their 
utter  indifference  to  one  another.  liistinctively,  he  pressed  the 
little  soft  hand,  as  he  replaced  it  on  his  arm. 

"Oh  really,  Lady  Anne,  you  must  excuse  me,  this  time." 

"And,  oh  really,  Lord  Warringdon,  I  can  do  no  such  thing,' 
she  answered  playfully. — "  Come  away,  my  dear  Isabel,  we  must 
not  give  this  lazy  candidate  of  ours  any  excuse,"  and  she  drew 
her  daughter's  arm  within  hers,  and  walked  her  off. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  provoking  persecuting  marplot  1"  the 
Viscount  muttered,  as  he  made  his  bow  to  Miss  Mc  Alpine. 

The  band  struck  up  a  waltz,  he  deposited  his  hideous  one  on 
the  first  vacant  seat,  and  looked  round  for  Isabel — whom  he  dis- 
covered at  last,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  sitting  near  her  and  Icughing,  as 
was  his  custom,  on  three  chairs  at  once,  and  rolling  his  large  un- 
meaning eyes;  and  just  as  he  was  apologizing  to  her,  for  not 
asking  her  to  waltz,  being  "  afraid,"  as  he  said,  of  "  throwing 
her  down,"  (the  usual  finale  of  his  waltzing  enterprises,)  and  ag 
she  was  smiling  forgiveness,  Lord  Warringdon  walked  up  to 
them : 

"  You  waltz,  do  you  not  1"  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"  Let  us  be  off  then,  before  la  chere  maman  makes  a  reappear- 
ance with  a  new  fright  in  her  hands — one  would  think  all  the  hi- 
deousness  of  the  county  had  rendezvoused  here  to-night— come, 


"1^  CANVASSlN*G. 

la  belina,  carina,  JUrlina,'^  lie  said,  playfully  putting  his  arm 
round  her  waist. 

The  whole  room  was  in  admiration  of  the  graceful  movements 
of  this  handsome  couple,  and  none  more  so  than  Lady  Anne  her- 
self, although,  when  they  paused  a  moment  to  take  breath,  she 
asked  her  daughter  in  a  displeased  tone — 

"  Why  are  you  not  dancing  with  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  my  dearV 

"Because,  mamma,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  never  waltzes,  you  know." 

*•  Allans  donc,^''  said  the  Viscount,  replacing  his  arm.  But  Isa- 
bel hesitated,  for  she  saw  that  her  mother  was  offended. 

*'  Why,  what  is  the  matter?  are  you  tired]"  he  asked. 

"No,"  answered  Isabel,  colouring.  "But  mamma  does  not 
wish  me  to  waltz." 

"Oh,  1  beg  pardon — I  was  not  aware  of  your  mamma's  objec- 
tion to  it,  or,  of  course,  1  should  not  have  asked  you." 

Lady  Anne  continued  to  bite  her  lips  and  play  with  her  fan. 
Isabel  sat  down  and  turned  her  back  on  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  and  Lord 
Warringdon  turned  his  on  Lady  Anne. 

"  Confound  the  woman  !"  he  muttered,  as  he  folded  his  arms, 
and  stretched  out  his  legs. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  waltz,  my  lord  ]"  Lady  Anne 
observed,  in  her  sweetest  and  most  guileless  manner. 

"  I  was,  but  your  ladyship  prevented  me,"  he  answered. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  valseuses  in  the  roou),  besides  my  daugh- 
ter ;  for  instance.  Miss  Mc  Clintock,  who  waltzes  beautifully ;  shall 
I  introduce  you  V 

Now,  Miss  Mc  Clintock  had  a  pair  of  staring  light  blue  eyes,  by 
p.o  means  to  the  taste  of  his  young  lordship,  so  he  met  the  offer 
rather  coldly. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  your  ladyship,  but  I  have  changed  my 
mind,  and  do  not  intend  waltzing  all  the  evening," 

"As  you  please,  my  lord,"  she  replied,  with  offended  dignity. 

"  Mr.  Mc  Alpine !  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  give  your  arm 
to  Isabel  as  far  as  the  next  room,  for  I  am  sadly  afraid  xtf  her 
taking  cold  here." 

Poor  Isabel  was  ready  to  cry  from  vexation,  but  how  soon  would 
her  tears  have  been  converted  into  smiles,  could  she  have  seen 
the  glance  of  indignation  and  offended  pride  which  the  Viscount 
darted  at  her  mother! 

During  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  he  scarcely  condescended 
even  to  speak  with  his  hostess,  who,  in  consequence,  retired  to 
rest  that  night,  full  of  the  most  joyful,  and  brilliant  anticipations. 
O'Reilly  had  mentioned  to  her  Lord  Warringdon's  amusing  sup- 
position with  regard  to  himself,  and  thus  the  ill-humour  which 
had  been  observable  in  his  manner  during  the  former  part  of  tlie 


CANVASSING.  121 

cveninof,  was  most  satisfactorily  accounted  for.  The  apathetic 
Viscount  was  jealous  !  the  manosuvring-  mother  clapped  her  hands 
in  delight. 

"He  must  not,  however,  my  dear  O'Reilly,  be  allowed  to  frit- 
ter away  his  feelings,  in  the  empty  attentions  and  unmeaning 
gallantries  of  a  ball-room.  So,  I  must  keep  my  eye  upon  him,  and 
prevent  his  speaking  with  her  this  evening;  nothing  like  thwart- 
ing, and  counter-plotting,  for  such  a  temperament  as  his — in  order 
to  give  impetus  to  his  otherwise  evanescent  impressions, — So,  if 
I  do  not  allow  him  to  flirt  with  her  to-night,  he  will  rise  to-mor- 
row downright  in  love  with  her.'' 

And,  as  our  readers  may  have  observed,  to  this  plan  she  had 
pertinaciously  adhered  throughout  the  remainder  of  the  eve- 
ning. 


11 


t22  ©A^RVASSIWC^^ 


CHAPTER  V. 


Did  Lord  Warringdon  awake,  the  morning  after  the  ball, 
"downright  in  love  "  with  Isabel  WihnotT 

We  do  not  choose  to  speak  too  decidedly  on  the  subject,  but 
our  belief  is  that  some  progress  iias  been  made  in  causing  his 
lordship  to  thaw ;  inasmuch  as  the  attentions  which  he  had  ori- 
ginally paid  Isabel,  merely  to  supplant  her  lover,  and  outwit  her 
mother,  (the  person  he  liked  best  to  outwit,  after  a  husband,) 
without  any  ulterior  object  beyond  the  amusement  of  the  hour,  he 
now  offered  from  interest  in  herself.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  he  was  sure  of  having  inspired  a  genuine  and  spontaneous  af- 
fection, wholly  unprompted  by  interested  speculations,  evidently 
discouraged  as  it  was  by  her  family;  and  again,  this  attachment 
was  so  delicately  indicated,  so  dignified  by  reserve  and  womanly 
pride,  that  he  never  could  venture  to  presume  upon  his  discovery 
of  its  existence. 

And  how  did  Isabel  awake  the  morning  after  the  ball? 

Why,  very  iiappy,  and  very  tired — for  she  had  passed  the  whole 
night  thinking  of  all  that  Warringdon  had  said,  and  all  he  had 
not  said,  but  which  he  very  likely  would  have  said,  had  not  her 
mother,  either  accidentally,  or  designedly,  interfered  to  prevent 
him,  by  never  allowing  them  to  remain  a  moment  together. 

"Oh  yes!"  said  she,  to  herself,  "  now  I  am  sure  he  loves  me! 
for  what  an  instantaneous  change  took  place  in  his  manner,  from 
the  time  he  discovered  that  O'Reilly  was  not  a  rival.  Dear,  dear 
Warringdon!  generous,  disinterested  Warringdon!  howl  love 
you  !  but  I  would  not  for  worlds  you  knew  yet  how  deeply  1  how 
devotedly!" 

Naturally  of  an  affectionate  disposition,  and  meeting  no  return 
of  tenderness  from  her  own  family,  she  had  a  superabundance  of 
love  at  her  disposal,  all  of  which  she  now  bestowed  on  the  hand- 
some, fashionable,  agreeable  Viscount,  quite  sure  there  was  in 
the  transaction  a  strictly  honest  exchange  of  commodities. 

On  the  evening  of  that  day,  the  usual  family  party,  with  the 
addition  of  Mr.  O'Reilly,  were  assembled  in  the  drawing-room. 


CANVASSING.  123 

Mr.  Wilmot,  and  his  agreeable  reverence,  were  talking  politics. 
Maria  and  Mr.  Barham  trash.  Lady  Anne  and  Mr.  Mc  Alpine 
sentiment.  And  Lord  VVarringdon  was  sitting-  near  Isabel, 
making  love,  or  at  least,  something  so  a  kin  to  it  that  she  quite 
spoiled  a  papier  7nach^  box  which  slie  had  intended  for  her 
mamma. 

These  conversational  duetts,  carried  on  for  some  time,  in  an 
under  tone,  were  at  length  interrupted  by  Lady  Anne. 

"Well,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  1  will  'take  the  sense  of  the  house,' 
^upon  this  motion.  Wilmot  and  Mr,  O'Reilly,  do  leave  off  count- 
ing votes  for  one  mom.ent.  Lord  Warringdon  and  Mr.  Barham, 
suspend  your  flirtations  with  my  daughters,  if  you  please,  and 
give  me  your  several  opinions  upon  a  certain  knotty  point,  which 
threatens  to  disturb  the  hitherto-unbroken  amity  that  has  sub- 
sisted between  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  and  myself" 

All  the  gentlemen,  except  Lord  Warringdon,  obeyed  her  com- 
mands. 

"  State  the  case,  Lady  Anne,"  Mr.  O'Reilly  said. 
"Why,  you  must  know,  gentlemen,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  has  the 
audacity  to  tell  me  that  he  prefers  Irish,  to  English,  women  I 
According  to  him,  they  are  prettier,  wiser,  better,  more  capable 
of  loving,  and  more  worthy  of  being  loved  ;  more  engaging  as 
girls,  more  estimable  as  women  ^  more  devoted  mistresses,  °and 
more  attached  wives;  fonder  mothers,  kinder  friends,  and — 
Heaven  knows  what  besides!  In  one  word,  the  enumeration  of 
the  points  of  superiority,  if  noted  down,  would  reach  from  this  to 
Mc  Alpine  Castle.  Now,  is  not  this  too  bad]  Come,  Wilmot, 
what  do  you  say  ?    Which  are  you  for,  English  or  Irish  V 

"  Oh  !  I  enter  my  vato  (veto)  against  recaiving  his  vote  at  all," 
Mr.  Mc  Alpine  interposed ;  for  he  will  judge  of  English  women 
-according  to  his  own  exparience,  and  attribute  to  them  generally 
the  perfections  peculiar  to  Lady  Anne  Wilmot." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,"  said  Mr.  Wilmot,  laughing, 
*'for  saving  me  the  trouble  of  making  a  civil  speech  to  mv  own 
-wife."  ^ 

"Well,  now  the  speech  lias  been  made  for  you,  pray  give  U3 
your  vote,"  said  Lady  Anne. 

"  \yhy,  that  happens  to  be  rather  a  puzzling  sort  of  vote  ; — my 
wife  is  English,  and  my  daughters  are  Irish,— how  can  I  decide 
i)etween  them  ]  Now  I  have  it:— I  would  recommend  English 
-women  to  my  own  sons,  (wishing  they  may  be  as  happy  as  myself) 
^and  Irish  women  to  the  sons  of  other  people." 

"  Bravo,  Signor  Padre  !"  Maria  exclaimed.     "  I  like  that  dis^ 
tmction  passing  well.     Now,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  it  is  your  turn." 
■"  Oh,  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  any  cxf  you,  English,  or  Irish : 


124  CANVASSING. 

and,  as  my  vocation  is  not  that  of  gallantry,  I  may  be  allowed, 
perhaps,  to  add,  I  am  not  at  all  sorry  for  it,  inasmuch  as  I  think 
that  man  the  happiest  who  thinks  least  about  you." 

"What  a  sacrilageous  idaa  !"  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  cried. 

"  Oh,  capital !  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  Mr.  O'Reilly.  A 
wife  is  such  a  stoopid,  cross  sort  of  thing, — always  scolding,  or 
advising  one  !  there  you  must  be  as  sober  as  a  judge ;  no  fun  af- 
ter once  a  man  is  married  :  so  I  am  determined  to  be  an  old 
bachelor, — positively  I  ami"  exclaimed  Barham. 

"  Positively  you  shall  not  be,  though,"  thought  Lady  Anne, 
and  so  thought  Maria. 

"Well,  now  let  us  count  up  the  votes.  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  gives 
a  plumper  to  the  Irish;  Mr.  Wilmot  appears  inclined  to  split  his 
vote  ;  Mr.  O'Reilly  and  Mr.  Barham  will  have  nothing  to  say  to 
either  of  us,  so  I  aQ\  afraid  the  Irish  have  it.  Oh,  but  J  was  for- 
getting !  Lord  Warringdon  has  not  given  his  opinion  yet.  Come, 
ray  lord,  which  are  you  for,  English,  or  Irish  1"  asked  Lady 
Anne. 

She  was  extremely  happy  to  find  that  his  lordship  had  not  been 
attending  to  a  single  syllable  of  the  previous  discussion,  so  that 
she  had  to  repeat  the  conversation  all  over  again. 

"  Now,  my  lord,  that  I  have  put  you  in  possession  of  this  most 
difficult  case,  pray  let  us,  at  once,  have  the  benefit  of  your  critical 
and  fastidious  taste,  knowledge,  and  experience.  Recollect,  that 
you  are  English,  and  that  you  are  this  day  the  sole  champion  of 
your  country,  for  Mr.  Barham  proves  a  recreant  knight.  Now, 
therefore.  Viscount  Warringdon,  '  for  St.  George  and  Eng- 
land V  " 

"  Recollect,  my  lord,"  Maria  cried,  "  that  although  you  belong 
to  England,  you  are  in  Ireland  ;  that  we  are  two  to  one  here, 
at  present ;  and  that  Isabel  and  I  have  long  nails ;  so  your  vote 
or  your  eyes,  my  lord  ; — '  high  for  St.  Patrick  and  Ireland  ' !" 

"Was  ever  man  placed  in  a  more  diflScult  predicament? 
Honour,  patriotism,  and  Lady  Anne,  on  one  side  ;  gratitude, 
long  nails,  and  the  Miss  Wilmots  on  the  other  !  Fair  ladies, 
thus  do  I  decide  between  motives  and  attractions  so  equally 
balanced  : — I  am  for  J]nglish  women  generally,  but  Irish  women 
particularly." 

"  Oh,  you  mane  you  prefer  English  ladies  to  flirt  with,  but 
you  would  be  more  sariously  attached  to  an  Irish  woman." 
'     "  Oui,  si  elle  te  ressemblait,  belle,  bonne  et  spirituelle,^'  the  Vis- 
count whispered  in  Isabel's  ear.      "  Just  so,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,"  he 
said  aloud. 

"  Now,  I  move,  that  the  ladies'  opinions  of  the  relative  me- 
rits of  the  gentlemen  of  both  countries,  be  collected  ;-^we  are 


CANVASSING.  ^^5 

^ying"  to  know  what  they  think  of  up,"  observed  Mr.  Mc  Al- 
pine. 

"Let  us  see:  Lord  Warrinfji-don  and  Mr.  Barham,  are  Eng- 
lish,— Mr.  Mc  Alpine  Irish, — two  to  one,  so  I  ara  for  the  English," 
Maria  said. 

"  You  foriret  your  father  and  Mr.  O'Reilly." 
"No,  I  don't  tbro-et  them,  mamma  ;  but  you  know  they  count 
for  nothing-; — the  one,  a  married  man,  the  other  a  man  who  never 
will  marry  : — they  are  as  if  they  were  not." 

"f  cannot  say  that  I  feel  extraordinarily  flattered  by  your 
vote,  Miss  Wilmot;  the  preference,  as  you  admit,  being  merely 
accidental ;  and  now,  for  your  sister's,"  Lord  Warringdon  said, 
turning  to  Isabel.  "  Remember,"  he  added,  "  that  I  was  for  the 
Irishwomen,  so  you  must,  in  common  gratitude,  decide  in  fa- 
vour of  Englishmen.  Now,  '  St.  George  and  England,'  again, 
fair  Isabel." 

"  No,  no,  my  lord,  you  gave  the  lovely  daughters  of  Erin  but 
half  your  heart, — bnt  I  give  them  the  whole  of  mine  ;  remem- 
ber that,  gentle  Isabel,  and  be  sure  you  decide  for  St.  Patrick 
and  Ireland." 

"  Silence  in  the  court !  do  not  prejudice  the  minds  of  the  jury," 
Maria  exclaimed. 

"  I  imitate  the  laudable  exnmple  of  prudence  and  impartiality 
set  me  by  Lord  Warringdon.  So  I  am  for  the  English  generally, 
but  the  Irish  pnrticularly,"  said  Isabel,  smiling. 

"  Maligne  que  dis  tu  la  .?"  Lord  Warringdon  playfully  whis- 
pered. 

Mr.  Mc  Alpine  rewarded  the  fair  speaker  witli  a  look  of  unut- 
terable tenderness;  his  largo  white  eyes  rolling  from  side  to  side, 
like  a  ship  in  a  heavy  gale  of  wind,  and  appearing  every  moment 
upon  the  point  of  fairly  tumblmg  out,  "  body  and  bones,"  as  our 
friend,  Mr.  Kelly,  would  say. 

Lady  Anne  thought  fit,  just  then,  to  challenge  the  Viscount  to 
a  game  at  chess,  hoping  that  Mc  Alpine's  vanity,  evidently  ex- 
cited by  what  be  seemed  to  consider  a  decided  expression  of  Isa- 
bel's preference,  might  hurry  him  (if  allowed  the  opportunity) 
into  making  his  proposals  in  form,  and  thus  quickening  the  Vis- 
count's movements.  When  Lord  Warringdon  accepted  her  in- 
vitation, she  placed  the  chess-board  sufTicicntly  near  Mc  Alpine 
and  Isabel  for  him  to  overhear  whatever  conversation  should  pass 
between  tl>em. 

The  players  had  scarcely  seated  themselves,  when  Mr.  Mc 
Alpine  began  thus,  in  a  low  tone,  to  Isabel : — 

"  Ye.s  you  are,  indeed,  a  woman  capable  of  appreciating  an 
irishman  !  your  pjcferencc  evinces  both  sense  and  taste,  such 
11* 


126  CANVASSIMO. 

as  I  should  ever  expect  to  find  in  the  most  charming  of  her 
■ex." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  mean  literally,  what  I  said,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine;  I 
was  merely  laughing  with  Lord  Warringdon,  for  I  really  do  not 
prefer  Irishmen." 

"You  raally  do  not  prefer  Irishmen]  You  are  the  greatest 
little  rogue  in  the  world  !"  he  said,  archly;  "  as  if  I  did  not  know 
what  you  like  better  than  you  do  yourself;  at  laste,  better  than 
you  pretend,"  he  added,  resuming  his  usual  languishing  tone. 
"  I  am  aware  that  you  have  too  much  taste  and  romance  of  sen- 
timent, to  be  interested  by  an  Irishman  of  the  common  run  ; 
swaggering  fellows,  ready  to  fight  every  man,  and  make  love  to 
every  woman  they  meet.  No,  my  charming  Isabel,  my  sweet 
modest,  shrinking  lily  of  the  vale!  No,  an  Irishman  of  that 
class  could  never  be  the  object  of  a  timid  and  delicate  affection 
such  as  yours  !— But  could  not  my  gentle  Isabel  love  a  refined 
and  accomplished  Irishman? — A  man  of  mind,  capable  of  under- 
standing and  appreciating  the  soft;  tenderness  of  her  character ; 
one  on  whom  she  could  lane  for  support  and  encouragement; 
one  whose  ardour  would  be  tempered  with  sensibility,  and  ex- 
alted by  enthusiasm;  one  who  would  repay  her  devoted  attach- 
ment with  all  the  intensity  of  passion,  ail  the  elegance  of  taste, 
and  all  the  romance  of  sentiment:  one  who  could  brathe 
(breathe)  but  in  the  atmosphere  of  her  presence  ;  one  who  could 
live  but  on  her  words,  and  whose  sunshine  was  her  smiles. — 
Could  you  not  love  such  an  Irishman  as  that,  enchanting  crature 
of  love  and  beauty  ]"  he  whispered,  grinning  a  smile  of  mingled 
sentiment  and  archness. 

"Really,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  I " 

A  look  from  her  mother  cut  short  Isabel's  sentence,  and  she 
stopped  abruptly,  colouring,  and  embarrassed. 

Mr.  Mc  Alpine  smiled  with  complacency  on  her  timid  attempt 
at  a  disavowal  of  her  love,  and  proceeded  thus: — 

"The  man  on  whom  you  bestowed  your  first  and  virgin  affec- 
tions must  never  have  loved  before  he  met  you — he  may  have 
had  passing  gallantries,  but  none  that  need  excite  an  unasy  sen- 
timent in  your  gentle  bosom ;  you  must  be  the  first  woman  he 
ever  raally  loved;  the  first  he  ever  sariously  contemplflted  re- 
signing his  liberty  to,  and  committing  his  honour  and  pace  of 
mind  to;  he  must  be  able  to  sny  with  truth — 

"  My  adorable  Isabel— I  may  have  admired  others,  but  I 
never  loved  but  you — from  the  first  moment  I  beheld  your  beau- 
teous form,  my  fate  was  saled;  for  you  alone  have  raalized  the 
romantic  idaas  and  anticipations  of  my  impassioned  character; 
ypu  are  the  bright,  soft  dhrame  of  my  soul!  the  crature  of  my 


CANVASSING.  127 

imagination ;  the  object  of  my  first,  and  most  passionate  aspira- 
tions!—  Yes!  you  are,  indeed,  worthy  of  being  the  inspiration  of 
poetic  fancy;  the  chosen  of  a  man  of  mind.  Yet,  rich  as  you  are 
in  youth,  beauty,  accomplishments,  elegance,  refinement,  taste, 
and  mind;  of  gentle  birth,  and  polished  manners,  surrounded,  in 
a  word  by  fascinations  of  every  description,  I  should,  however, 
have  escaped  the  thrawldom  of  your  varied  and  potent  charms,  if  I 
had  not  had  rason  to  believe  myself  the  object  of  an  attachment 
as  enthusiastic  on  your  part  as  upon  mine. 

"And  what  man  has  the  right  to  spake  thus,  my  own  fair  Isa- 
bel ?  Is  it  not  Mc  Alpine  !  your  adoring,  and  let  me  hope, 
not  wn-adored  Mc  Alpine  ? — Oh,  for  the  bliss  of  hearing  from  your 
own  soft  lips  this  rapturous  confirmation  of  my  hopes  ! — Ah,  do 
let  my  longing  ears  drink  in  the  blushing  and  modest  reluctant 
avowal  of  your  pure  and  gentle  tenderness  ! — spake,  my  soft 
charmer,  though  it  be  but  a  word,  one  little  yes, — to  the  man 
who  adores  you — or  a  glance  will  suffice,  for  I  have  long  been 
acquainted  with  the  soft  language  of  your  bright  eyes."" 

Each  time,  that  unfortunate  Isabel  had  parted  her  pretty  cherry 
lips,  to  convey  a  decided  negative  to  Mr.  Mc  Alpine's  hopes,  she 
caught  a  frowning  expression  on  her  mother's  brow,  which  had 
enforced  her  silence  ;  and  under  this  martyrdom  of  her  patience 
and  feeling: 

"You  know,"  continued  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  with  a  tone  and  look 
of  melting  tenderness.  "  You  know  what  interpretation,  gentle- 
men, on  these  occasions,  arc  allowed  to  put  on  the  silence  of  la- 
dies.    Do  you  not,  my  gentle,  timid  love]" 

Isabel  could  endure  it  no  longer, — she  bounded  from  her  seat, 
throwing  down  the  poker  and  tongs,  and  trampling  on  the  lame 
extremities  of  her  father,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  and  two  lap  dogs,  in  the 
precipitation  of  her  retreat  from  the  voice  of  love. 

"  What  a  modest  crature  1"  tenderly  soliloquized  Mr.  Mc  Al- 
pine. 

"  My  dear  Isabel !  do  pray  look  before  you,"  her  mother  ex- 
claimed. 

But  the  fair  fugitive  was  already  at  the  other  side  of  the  door. 

"  Nay,  there  she  is  out  into  her  romantic  moonshine, — I  know 
her  ways." 

"But  how  very  awkward  she  is  sometimes  !"  Lady  Anne  con- 
tinued— "Maria!  rub  poor  little  Fido's  paw,  will  you? — lam 
afraid  he  is  sadly  hurt, — "tis  your  move,  my  lord." 

He  moved ;  and  moved  wrong. 

"Check  to  your  King!"  she  cried. 

He  made  another  move,  also  a  false  one. 

"  Check  mate  !" — and  Lady  Anne  laughed  triumphantly- 


128  CANVASSIKG. 

**  I  am  SO  delighted  to  have  beaten  you  at  last ! — either  I  have 
played  better,  or  you  worse,  than  usual." 

Why  had  the  Viscount  become  so  suddenly  absent  and  taciturn'? 
Was  he  out  of  sorts,  at  having-  been  beaten  at  chess,  or  was  he 
thinking  of  Mr.  Archer,  and  the  election] 

"  Maria,  I  wish  that  you  and  O'Reilly  would  sing  something," 
said  Lady  Anne. 

Her  daughter  joyfully  assented,  glad  to  be  relieved  for  awhile 
from  the  trouble  of  feeding  Mr.  Barham  with  good  stories. 

"What  a  pleasant  girl  she  is!"  the  Leicestershire  minor  ob- 
served to  the  young  candidate. 
"Very!"  he  answered,  musing. 
"Pity  she  is  so  ugly,  though,  is  it  not?" 
"  Ugly  !"  repeated  the  Viscount,  with  a  stare  of  astonishment. 
— "  Why,  she  happens  to  be  one  of  the  prettiest  women  I  have 
ever  seen." 

"Indeed  !  do  you  think  so?" 

"  Why,  v»'ho  the  deuce  thinks  otherwise,"  demanded  his  lord- 
ship, with  a  warmth  unusual  to  him.  And  he  rchipsed  into  his 
former  silence  and  moodiness,  and  shortly  after  left  the  room  ; 
Mr,  Barham  remaining  rooted  to  the  spot,  lost  in  wonderment  at 
Maria  Wil mot's  being  considered  by  Lord  Warringdon  as  one  of 
the  prettiest  women  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  Well !  I  am  sure  I  never  should  have  thought  of  any  one  ad- 
miring her  as  a  beauty.  Her  eyes  are  not  bad,  I  think — and  she 
has  good  white  teeth, — but  then  her  skin  is  horrid  brown  ;  and 
her  mouth  so  very  wide,  the  widest  I  ever  saw,  except  Mr.  Mc 
Alpine's. — Perhaps  'tis  her  figure  that  he  admires,  some  people 
like  large  women,  but  then  she  is  so  very  stout  and  short :  howe- 
ver, he  must  be  right,  I  suppose ;  for  I  know  that  he  is  reckoned  a 
better  judge  of  a  horse  than  any  man  at  Melton." 

While  thus  cogitating^  he  had  placed  himself  opposite  Maria, 
and  remained  staring  vacantly  into  her  face,  during  the  whole  of 
the  time  she  was  singing. 

"  What  on  earth  can  the  fool  of  a  boy  be  thinking  of,  I  won- 
der!"  said  to  herself  the  object  of  his  not  very  flattering  rumina- 
tions, as  she  caught  his  fixed  gaze.  "A  silver  penny  for  your 
thoughts,  Mr.  Barham!" 

"My  thoughts!"  he  repeated,  hesitating  and  looking  more 
silly  even  than  usual. — "  I  was  not  thinkiu:^-  of  any  thing  parti- 
cular,— I  was  only  just  thinking  of  you  and" 

"  Much  obliged  to  ye,  sir,"  she  interrupted,  crossing  her  handd 
before  her,  and  dropping  a  country  girl  sort  of  courtesy,  "  thankee, 
fiir,  for  your  compliment — Thinking  of  nothing  particular,  only 
i)fraer' 


Canvassing.  12ft 

"Oh,  you  will  kill  me,  if  you  make  me  laugh  so,  MissWilmot, 
you  do  make  such  fun  of  one.  Well,  1  will  tell  you  really  what 
I  was  thinking-.  I  was  thinking  how  well  you  were  looking  this 
evening, — so  handsome !"  I  may  as  well  say  so,  he  thought,  as 
Lord  VVarringdon  says  that  she  docs. 

"  Poor,  foolish  boy!  I  suppose  he  is  tipsy,"  Maria  muttered. 
Why,  my  dear  creature,  what  is  come  over  you  this  evening'? 
you  are  grown  quite  civil." 

"  But  am  I  not  always  civil  to  you.  Miss  Wilmotl  I  am  sure 
I  intend  to  be  so  to  you,  and  every  body !" 

"  There  again  ! — me,  and  every  body,  bless  the  dear  man! — 
His  compliments  are  like  Penelope's  weaving,  for  he  unsays  the 
last  moment  what  he  said  the  moment  before, — so  you  don't  care 
more  for  me  than  you  do  for  any  one  else  in  the  house  !" 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  do.  Miss  Wilmot,  I  like  you  better,  a  great  deal 
better,  than  any  of  them,  I  like  you  more  than  any  body  I  ever 
knew,  except  Father  John,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  priests  cannot 
marry  !  he  and  you  would  be  such  a  nice  match  !  only  he  is  a 
little  too  old  for  you." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  if  there  were  no  other  difficulty  than  Father 
John's  age,  it  would  be  all  very  well ;  I  would  much  sooner  mar- 
ry a  man  old  enough  to  be  my  father,  than  I  would  a  person 
younger  than  myself^ — I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  that!" 

"  You  are  quite  right.  Miss  Wilmot, — I  wish  that  every  body 
thought  as  you  do. — There  is  Ellen  Turner,  she  was  full  as  old 
as  you,  and  she  wanted  greatly  to  marry  me,  you  know,  and  a 
great  many  other  girls  too;  so  you  see  every  body  has  not  such 
sense  as  you  have,  and  as  for  fun,  there  is  nobody  like  you ; — at 
your  ball  there  was  not  any  girl  so  droll  as  you ;  do  you  know  I 
was  rather  disappointed  at  that  night, — first,  and  foremost,  Fa- 
ther John  was  not  there,  then  no  one  would  dance  a  jig  with  me, 
they  were  all  stitf,  and  stuck  up,  like  English  girls,  only  they 
spoke  w'ith  a  brogue,  I  am  sure  I  never  should  have  taken  them 
to  be  Irish.  Oh,  but  Miss  Wilmot,  I  had  nearly  forgotten,  you 
have  not  told  me  what  you  were  all  laughing  at  the  other  day  at 
dinner!" 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  was  once  married  to  him,  that  I  might 
not  be  worried  in  this  way,  to  amuse  him." 

She  laughed,  however,  and  looked  the  picture  of  good  hu- 
mour, while  she  prepared  to  gratify  her  persecuting  compa- 
nion. 

And  now,  we  will  leave  her  relating  her  funniest  story,  and 
he  laughing  his  noisiest  laugh,  and  see  what  has  become  of  the 
other  couple  of  lovers;  first,  however,  giving  a  passing  glance  at 


130  CANVASSING. 

Lady  Anne,  and  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  who  are  engaged  in  a  low  and 
-earnest  conversation;  he  telling  her  of  the  mutual  tenderness 
which  subsists  between  her  daughter  and  himself;  and  she  lis- 
tening, with  all  the  smiling  attention  of  a  mother,  whose  favourite 
project  has  been  attained. 


CANVASSING.  13t 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Isabel  did  not,  indeed,  as  Ijcr  mother  had  conjectured,  content 
herself  with  flying  merely  from  the  room  which  contained  Mr. 
Mc  Alpine,  but  also  from  the  roof  which  covered  him ;  in  truth, 
she  never  stopped  to  take  breath  till  she  had  reached  a  spot  in 
the  grounds,  of  late  her  favourite  haunt,  because  it  had  been  ad- 
mired by  Lord  Warringdon, — and  where  she  had  often  saun- 
tered with  him — a  pretty  little  walk,  (just  affording  room  for 
two,)  in  a  shrubbery,  through  which  ran  a  clear,  rapid,  winding 
stream.  She  sunk,  feverish  and  tired,  upon  a  bank,  and  sat  for 
some  time,  looking  up  at  the  moon,  and  down  on  the  water,  as  if 
she  had  come  out  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  pay  them  a  visit; 
at  length,  however,  she  aroused  from  her  inaction,  and  began 
pacing  up  and  down  the  narrow  path,  and  talking  to  herself. 

"  Yes;  my  hour  is  come.  Warringdon  loves  me,  I  am  sure — 
but  is  he  sutficiently  his  own  master  to  be  able  to  follow  his  in- 
clinations]— and  if  he  be  not,  what  is  to  become  of  mc] — for 
now,  that  Mc  Alpine  has  actually  proposed,  my  mother  will  be- 
gin her  system  of  quiet  persecution.  Oh,  do  I  not  know  herl 
Though  she  is  aware  full  well  that  my  wedding  this  man  will  be 
a  step  to  my  burial,  she  will  have  no  pity  on  me — no  remorse — 
but  will  smilingly  doom  me  to  that  most  appalling  of  all  horrible 
fates,  companionship  for  life  with  a  man  my  very  soul  sickens 
at!  And  then,  to  love  another,  oh  that  cruel  aggravation  !  from 
my  heart  T  wish,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  in  agony,  "  I  had* 
never  seen  Warringdon's  face  !" 

"  Why]"  asked  Warringdon,  close  at  her  ear. 

She  screamed  faintly  at  beholding  near  her  the  very  face  she 
had  just  been  wishing  never  to  have  seen, — and 

"My  lord,"  she  said,  drawing  up  her  graceful  figure,  "you 
have  acted  unwarrantably  in  thus  intruding  upon  me,"  and  was 
in  the  act  of  moving  away,  when  stopped  by  Lord  Warringdon. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  "  you  must  not  go  till  you 
have  answered  my  question.  Why  do  you  wish  that  you  had 
never  seen  me]" 

"Oh  that  I  was  dead!"  she  cried,  bursting  into  a  passion  of 
tears,  and  struggling  to  disengage  her  hand. 


133  CANVASSING. 

""Nay, dear,  gentle  Isabel,  you  must  not  wish  to  die,  but  to 
Jive — to  live  for  me!"  he  said,  pressing  to  his  lips  the  fair  hand 
he  still  continuod  to  retain. 

The  young  Viscount  happened  to  be  one  of  those  people  who 
cannot  bear  to  look  upon  anguish,  though  they  may  have  little 
renaorse  about  causing  it — he  could  not  therefore  contemplate, 
unmoved,  the  unostentatious  sorrow  of  a  woman  who  devotedly 
loved  him,  and  whom  he  in  return  also  loved,  not  devotedly,  to  be 
sure,  but  at  any  rate  as  well  as  he  could  any  thing  that  was  not 
himself 

He  had  come  out  to  seek  her  he  scarcely  knew  why,  and  had 
found  her  trailing  in  grief  on  his  name:  is  it  very  surprising,  then, 
if,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  was  guilty  of  imprudence? 

Kind  reader,  pray  imagine  half  an  hour,  or  thereabouts,  spent 
in  assurances  of  attachment,  as  s  ncere  for  the  moment,  on  the 
Viscount's  part,  as  on  that  of  his  fair  companion. 

When  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  they  found  Lady 
Anne  and  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  still  in  close  chat;  and  Maria  still  talk- 
ing, and  Mr.  Barham  still  lauiihing. 

One  glance  at  the  daughter  told  the  mother  all  that  liad  oc- 
curred;  and  her  heart  bounded,  although  her  face  remained  calm 
as  usual. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  my  lord,  for  bringing  in  that 
naughty  girl  of  mine.  Dear  child,  you  should  not  walk  by  moon- 
light; 'tis  very  unwholesome,  indeed.  You  will  have  such  a  cold 
to-morrow,  my  sweet  love  !  Now,  my  dear  girl,  I  must  insist  on 
your  going  to  bed  immediately.  Mr.  Mc  Alpine — may  I  trouble 
you  to  touch  the  bell — I  wish  to  know  whether  there  be  a  fire  in 
her  room.  Maria,  you  look  pale,  my  love,  after  your  dancing 
last  night.     Go  to  your  beds,  both  of  you,  my  sweet  girls!" 

Need  we  observe  that  Lady  Anne  was  anxious  to  break  up  the 
party,  that  she  might  have  an  opportunity  of  eliciting  from  his 
lordship  a  declaration  in  form,  before  he  should  have  had  time 
to  sleep  off  any  portion  of  his  present  vivid  impressions,  in  the 
same  way  she  had  just  succeeded  in  entrapping  Mr.  Mc  Alpine 
into  promisinsT  his  vote.  By  dismissing  her  daughters,  she  also 
disembarrassed  her.-elf  of  Mr.  Barham,  who  ran  after  Maria,  to 
hear  the  sequel  of  her  last  story ;  anfl  of  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,  who 
trailed  after  Isabel,  to  have  "  one  last  look  of  her  he  adored^"  be- 
fore he  retired  to  rest. 

"  God  bless  you  !  pleasant  dreams !"  his  hostess  said,  giving  him 
a  significant,  affect  onUe  nod. 

As  soon  as  she  ^ound  herself  alone  with  the  Viscount,  Mr.  Wil- 
mot  and  Mr.  O'Reilly  being  too  absorbed  in  politics  to  be  any 
restraint  on  her,  she  thus  opened  the  attack : — 


[ 


CANVASSING.  135 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  my  lord  1  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  has  this 
evening'  proposed  for  Isabel ;"  and  her  face  beamed  with  maternal 
joy  and  tenderness. 

"  Indeed  !  and  is  he  accepted  V  tl<3  Viscount  inquired,  care- 
lessly. 

"  Surely  !"  she  replied. 

•*  That  is  to  say,  accepted  by  your  ladyship,  but  not  by  your 
ladyship's  daughter,  I  take  it." 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  1"  she  asked  with  well-feigned 
alarm. 

"  Only  because,  to  my  knowledge,  she  has  accepted  somebody 
else." 

"  Somebody  else !  Impossible,  my  lord  !— who  could  she  prefer 
to  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  r' 

"A  very  inferior  person,  I  certainly  must  allow,"  he  replied, 
coolly,  "  for  the  object  of  her  preference  happens  to  be  my  un- 
worthy self." 

"  You,  my  lord ! — you  must  surely  be  jesting".  I  never  was 
aware  that  you  admired  my  daughter,  or  that  she  was  attached  to 
you — you  cannot  therefore  bo  serious." 

The  Viscount  repeated  his  assertion. 

"  I  must  say  then,  my  lord,  that  both  you  and  she  have  placed 
me  in  a  very  awkward  situation.  As  for  my  daughter,  her  con- 
duct is  most  shameful  and  disingenuous  ;  she  has  suffered  me  ac- 
tually to  pledge  myself,  to  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  ;  what  «wi  I  to  say  to 
him  !"  and  she  appeared  much  agitated  and  displeased. 

"  Oh,  say  merely  that  you  and  your  daughter  are  of  different 
opinions  with  respect  to  his  merit;  and  that  the  young  lady  hap- 
pens to  have  bad  taste,  and  prefers  me, — that's  all." 

"  Early  in  our  acquaintance,  if  I  mistake  not,  I  informed  your 
lordship  how  my  daughter  was  circumstanced  ;  permit  me  to  add, 
that  you  have  not  acted  towards  me  with  the  openness  ray  con- 
fidence merited." 

The  Viscount  looked  at  her  composedly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  However,"  she  continued,  "I  leave  my  daughter  free  to  de- 
cide between  her  suitors;  of  course  her  choice  concerns  herself 
more  than  it  does  me ;  all  I  wish  is  that  she  had  known  her  own 
mind  a  little  sooner,  and  could  have  spared  me  the  pain  of 
having  to  undeceive  Mr.  Mc  Alpine,"— then  making  as  it  were 
an  effort  to  be  civil,  she  added,  "  I  trust  that  you  will  not  attribute 
any  portion  of  the  regret  I  feel  (and  which  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
acknowledge,)  at  the  failure  of  my  favourite  project,  to  a  want  of 
personal  consideration  for  your  lordship.  I  am  perfectly  aware 
liow  many  mothers  would  rejoice  in  securing  so  flattering  a  con- 
nexion for  their  daughters.     But,  my  lord,  recollect  that  I  have 

12 


134  CANVASSING. 

known  Mc  Alpine  from  boyhood  up  to  the  present  moment,  and 
a  more  noble-minded,  amiable  being  there  never  breathed  !  His 
love  for  Isabel  is  absolute  idolatry ;  I  could,  therefore,  have  no 
doubt  of  his  making'  her  happy.  Then  again,  my  lord,  some  little 
selfishness  mingled  with  my  other  feelings.  I  was  anxious  to 
have  my  favourite  child  settled  near  me,  that  I  might  still  watch 
over  her  with  a  mother's  care ;  and  should,  by  any  possibility, 
some  slight  misunderstanding  occur  in  the  young  menage^  I 
could  explain  and  advise,  and  dear  Mc  Alpine  would  have  lis- 
tened to  me  with  all  the  deference  of  a  son,  for  he  knows  I  love 
him  like  a  son  of  my  own.  Poor  fellow,  what  a  blow  this  will  be 
to  him !  I  quite  dread  to  meet  him !" 

"  What  a  long  tiresome  story  about  nothing !"  said  the  Vis- 
count to  himself. 

"  Well,  Lady  Anne,  all  I  can  say,  is  that  I  regret  to  have  been 
the  occasion  of  disturbing  such  glowing  visions  of  domestic  fe- 
licity. It  is  certainly  peculiarly  unfortunate  that  you  have  not 
been  able  to  inspire  your  daughter  with  your  enthusiasm  for  Mr. 
Mc  Alpine.  But  there  is  no  accounting  for  the  strange  fancies 
of  young  ladies,  sometimes;  they  do  not  always  see  with  their 
mamma's  eyes,  and  so  much  the  worse  for  themselves;  but,  my 
dear  Lady  Anne,  it  is  twelve  o'clock!— time  for  honest  folks  like 
you  and  me  to  go  to  bed. — Bon  soir .'" 

His  hostess  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  with  a  smile  grave,  but 
kind,  just  the  smile  in  fact  which  a  mother  gives  the  man  she 
aecepts,  but  does  not  rejoice  in,  as  a  son-in-law. 


CA.NTASSIKO.  135 


I 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Mr.  Mc  Alpine  had  been  all  night  dreaming  of  his  Isabel,  and 
was  now  lying  absorbed  in  blissful  anticipations  of  the  happy  time 
•when  he  and  the  "  beloved  of  his  soul,"  would  go  sailing  about 
the  lake,  opposite  "  the  Castle,"  making  love;  when  the  door  softly 
opened,  and  Tom  Landnigan,  his  own  man,  made  his  appearance. 

"Is  that  you,  Tom r' 

*'  It  is  sir,  veritably,"  answered  Tom. 

"  Is  Miss  Isabel  up  yet,  Toral" 

"  She  is,  sir.  I  have  a  bit  of  a  letter  she  gave  me  for  you, 
about  half  an  hour  ago,  sir,  but  I  was  loath  to  disturb  you,  coming 
in  with  it."— 

*'  Ah,  that's  the  way  to  dale  with  the  women — lave  them  to 
themselves,  and  you  see  how  soon  they  come  running  after  us'. 
The  little  logue  is  afraid  now  I  am  displeased,  because  I  did  not 
follow  her  out  of  the  room,  when  she  made  off  from  me  last  night, 
and  thinks  to  get  round  me  again.  My  gentle  crature,  I  never 
could  be  angry  with  you,  even  for  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Mc  Al- 
pine, to  himself.  "  Tom,  open  the  shutters  and  give  me  the  let- 
ter— and  fetch  me  the  warm  water,  till  I  dress." 

Mr.  Mc  Alpine  carried  the  perfumed  missive  of  "  the  lady 
whom  he  served,"  to  his  lips,  and  then  broke  the  seal. 

Instead  of  "  my  adored  Peter,"  he  was  surprised  to  read,  "  mv 
valued  friend."  He  looked  at  the  signature;  it  was  Anne,  not 
Isabel  Wilmot;  but  the  similarity  of  hand-writing  of  the  mother 
and  daughter  had  more  than  once  produced  similar  mistakes. 
He,  however,  read  on — 

"This  is  the  seventh  attempt  I  have  made  this  morning  to  ad- 
dress you;  I  have  in  vain  sought  words  strong  enough  to  depict 
my  feelings ;  my  affection  for  you,  my  indignation  against  Lord 
Warringdon,  and  my  surprise  and  deep  displeasure  at  my  daugh- 
ter's unparalleled  duplicity. 

"  When  you  first  paid  your  addresses  to  her,  I  had  reason  to 
believe  her  ardently,  though  secretly,  attached  to  you;  I,  there- 
fore, did  all  in  my  power  to  encourage  your  attentions.  I  find, 
but  too  late,  that  I  have  misled  you,  that  I  have  deceived  yx>u,  in 


136  CANVASSING. 

fact,  but  alas!    my  noble,  confiding  youngf  friend,  believe  me,  I 
was  myself  deceived,  and  I  regrret  to  add,  by^my  own  child." 

"  On  mentioninsr  to  Lord  Warringdon,  in  the  joy  of  my  heart, 
last  night,  the  fulfilment  of  my  long  cherished  hope,  namely,  the 
union  between  you  and  the  dearest  of  ail  my  children,  he  ac- 
quainted me  that  my  daughter  had  been  for  some  time  engaged 
to  himself;  her  reluctance,  therefore,  to  answer  you  a  short  tmie 
before,  which  we  both  naturally  attributed  to  mere  girlish  non- 
sense and  timidity,  was,  it  now  appears,  occasioned  by  a  con- 
sciousness of  her  unworthy  double-dealing  conduct  by  you  and 
myself 

"I  have  passed  a  miserable  night,  and  am  totally  unable  this 
morning  to  meet  you  ;  overpowered  as  I  am  by  shame  and  wretch- 
edness. 

"Though  I  may  not  call  you  son,  continue  to  regard  me  as 
your  friend.  Allow  me  to  hope  that  we  may  yet  meet  as  here- 
tofore, when  the  present  painful  impression  on  our  minds  shall 
have  worn  away.  Mean  while,  my  amiable,  excellent  young 
friend,  accept  my  fervent  prayers  for  your  happiness,  and,  above 
all,  for  your  wedded  happiness  with  a  woman  more  worthy  your 
generous  and  romantic  feelings,  than,  I  grieve  to  say,  my  mis- 
judging and  ungrateful  daughter  has  proved  herself  to  be. 

Ever  believe  me, 
'  Sincerely  and  aifectionately  yours, 

Anns  VviLM<yr." 

If  the  fair  writer  of  the  epistle  found  herself,  as  she  states,  to- 
tally unable  to  "  depict  "  her  own  feelings,  we  may  be  pardoned 
if  we  confess  ourselves  equally  at  a  loss  to  describe  those  of  the 
reader  of  it.  He  laid  down  the  letter,  and  he  took  it  up  again  ; 
he  rubbed  hi*  eyes,  and  he  twisted  his  night-cap  from  side  to  side, 
as  he  tried  to  ascertain  whether  he  was  sleeping  or  waking.  He, 
the  tender,  reficed,  romantic,  intellectual,  impassioned,  capti- 
vating Peter  Mc  Alpine,  rejected  I  and  a  paltry,  titled  man  of  fa- 
shion preferred!  His  astonishment  and  indignation  knew  no 
bounds.  At  first,  he  intended  leaving  Castle  Wilmot  before 
breakfast,  and  not  again  meeting  the  undeserving  and  ungrate- 
ful object  of  his  late  adoration ;  but  a  few  moments'  consideration 
convinced  him  that  a  rido  of  seventeen  miles,  Irish  ones,  more* 
over,  fasting,  would  be  an  exploit  equally  disagreeable  and  unne- 
cessary, seeing  there  was  no  reason  that  because  he  happened  to 
be  a  rejected  lover,  he  should  also  be  ,a  starved  man — so  he  de- 
cided (wisely  as  we  think,)  not  only  on  eating  his  breakfast,  pre- 
vious to  his  departure,  but  even  of  making  as  good  a  one  as  ever 
he  had  done  in  all  his  life  before,  whether  in  or  out  of  love. 


\ 


CANVASSING.  137" 

"After  all,"  he  soliloquized  as  he  descended  the  stiir-casc, 
"'tis  worse  for  her  than  for  me,  a  great  dale.  I  have  ten  thou- 
sand a  year  in  actual  possession.  Warringdon's  father  may  live 
to  make  an  old  man  of  him,  and,  main  time,  he  will  often  be  hard 
run  for  money ;  and  as  for  the  men  themselves,  I  flatter  myself-^" 
and  he  grinned  with  much  self-complacency,  "  no  one  but  her- 
self would  make  the  comparison." 

He  found  all  the  party,  with  the  exception  of  Lady  Anne,  and 
Mr.  O'Reilly  assembled.  Lord  Warringdon  and  Isabel  chatting 
at  the  window;  she  looking  very  pretty,  and  he,  very,  very  gal- 
lant.    Maria,  as  usual,  "  killing"  Mr.  Barham. 

Mr.  Wilmot  and  his  eldest  daughter  advanced,  and  shook 
hands  with  their  guest — and  Lord  Warringdon  and  Isabel 
bowed. 

"  Where  is  Lady  Anne  and  Mr.  O'Reilly  1"  he  inquired,  in  hia 
usual  tone. 

"  Mamma  is  very  unwell,  indeed,"  replied  Maria  ;  "  so  much 
€0  that  she  has  ordered  her  breakfast  up  to  her  room :  and  Mr. 
O'Reilly  was  sent  for  express,  very  early  this  morning,  by  one 
of  his  parishioners." 

"  How  funny  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  must  feel !"  Barham  observed, 
in  a  whisper,  to  Maria,  who  had  just  been  imparting  to  Ijim  tlie 
•domestic  intelligence  of  the  day.  "  If  I  asked  somebody  to  mar- 
ry me,  and  she  would  not  have  me,  I  should  feel  so  odd,  should 
not  youl  but  1  never  intend  marrying, — don't  you  think  that  I  am 
right.  Miss  Wilmot?" 

Maria  assured  him  that  she  highly  approved  his  determination. 

"lam  very  glad  your  sister  is  going  to  make  such  a  good 
match  !  but  I  wish  he  had  chosen  you  instead  of  her :— should  you 
like  to  be  married,  Miss  Wilmot  1" 

"  No!"  replied  Maria. 

"  Oh,  but  1  wish  you  were,  though; — yo«  would  keep  such  a 
nice,  pleasant  house !  would  you  not  ask  me  to  it,  for  the  sake  of 
^Id  times,  and  all  the  laughing  we  have  had  together  1" 

"Oh,  whenever  I  marry,  I  intend  that  you  shall  consider  my 
house  as  your  hon>e,  Mr.  Barham  !" 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you.  Miss  Wilmot.  I 
should  so  like  to  be  at  your  house!  Now,  will  you  promise  fne 
one  thing]  wherever  you  are  married,  will  you  ask  me  to  your 
wedding?     I  would  come  any  distance  to  it." 

"I  promise  you,"  replied  Maria,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him, 
■*'  that  as  sure  as  I  shall  be  at  my  own  wedding,  so  sure  shall 
you !" 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  thank  you,  Miss  Wilmot !  I  hope  it  will  be 
.«)on." 

12* 


133  CANVASSING^ 

♦'  So  do  I,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  !^  said  Matia  to  her- 
self. 

"  What  a  lot  of  ham,  and  chicken,  and  thing-g,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine 
is  eating,"  Barham  Continued ;  "  I  never  should  take  him  for  a 
rejected  lover,  should  youl" 

"Have  you  any  commands,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  for  Mount 
Pleasant  V  Mr.  Mc  Alpine  inquired  :  "I  shall  start  from  here  in 
an  hour's  time." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  go  so  soon,  Mc  Alpine ;  stay  with  us  a  little 
longer,"  Mr.  Wilmot  insisted,  good-naturedly. 

"  Thank  you,  I  raally  cannot.  Lord  Templemore  has  been, 
for  some  time,  e.xtramely  pressing  with  me  to  go  and  see  him, 
and  I  promised  him  faithfully  I  would,  when  I  saw  him  here  the 
other  day  :  what  a  pleasant,  good-humoured  man  he  is  !  and  his 
daughters  I  like  of  all  things,  particularly  Lady  Mary  ;  I  danced 
with  her  at  your  ball,  and  I  was  raally  extremely  interested  in 
her  conversation ;  though  not  strictly  handsome,  she  is  a  very 
stylish-looking  girl,  and  has  a  great  dale  of  mind ;"  and  he  glanced 
over  at  Isabel,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  you  see  I  don't  intend  wearing 
the  willow  for  you." 

Lord  Templemore  had,  in  fact,  for  some  time,  been  supposed 
very  desirous  of  bestowing  one  of  his  five  frightful  daughters  on 
his  friend,  Mr.  Mc  Alpine.  Hitherto,  however,  the  good  Earl's 
generous  intentions  had  been  frustrated  by  Mr.  Mc  Alpine's 
own  opposition  to  the  scheme ;  but  now,  thanks  to  Miss  Isabel 
Wilmot's  blindness,  that  obstacle  was  removed  ;  and  Mr.  Mc  Al- 
pine gallopped  from  the  hall-door  of  Castle  Wilmot  with  the  in- 
tention of  raising  one  of  Lady  Pemberton's  to  the  enviable  station 
of  wife  to  a  "  man  of  mind." 

And  now  that  the  stimulus  afforded  by  Mc  Alpine's  preten- 
sions no  longer  existed,  Lady  Anne  began  to  apprehend  that 
the  Viscount's  passion  might  cool ;  she,  therefore,  decided  on 
leaving  Castle  Wilmot,  and  removing  to  the  assize  town,  where 
the  candidate  would  have  so  much  electioneering  business  on 
hand,  as  to  leave  him  no  leisure  for  repentance  or  ennui.  It 
was,  therefore  settled,  that  Lord  Warringdon,  Mr.  Barham,  the 
Miss  Wilmote,  and  their  mamma,  were  to  setoff  immediately, 
leaving  Mr.  Wilmot  ostensibly  to  send  down  the  freeholders, 
but  we  have  reason  to  think  that  the  motive  assigned  was  not 
the  real  one ;  and  we  believe  that  the  father  of  the  Miss  Wil- 
mots  was  just  as  anxious  to  keep  out  of  sight  of  the  High 
Sheriff  as  the  young  ladies  were  to  keep  within  that  of  their  two 
English  guesta 


CANVASSING.  139 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


On  the  evening  previous  to  the  day  appointed  for  the  opening 
of  the  poll,  a  small  group  of  gentlemen  stood  at  one  of  the  win- 
dows of  Lord  Warringdon's  committee-room,  looking  out  on 
the  laughing,  shouting  good-humoured  crowd,  assembled  in  the 
street  below, 

"There  is  not  a  man  of  Archer's  in  town  yet,"  said  Malony, 
one  of  Lord  Warringdon's  committee,  to  another  gentleman 
of  his  party  ;  "  he  will  never  come  to  the  poll, — you  will 
see." 

*'0h,  I  hope  he  will,  thought,"  interrupted  Mr.  Barham,  who 
was  leaning  half  out  of  the  window,  contemplating  this  noisy 
scene  with  infinite  glee;  "  or  else  I  shall  lose  all  the  sport,  and  I 
may  never  happen  to  see  another  Irish  election.  What  capital 
fun  it  must  be,  to  be  sure  !" 

"  Ay,  faith  it  is,  capital  fun,  indeed  !"  observed  Mr.  Malony. 
"What  do  you  say,  my  lord,"  he  continued,  addressing  the 
Viscount,  "  to  my  having  carried  a  dozen  messages,  on  one 
election,  for  Mr.  Wilmot,  and  sending  six  on  my  own  account  1 
He  fought  five  of  his,  but  all  mine  apologized, — the  black- 
guards 1" 

"  Oh,  what  famous  fun  it  must  be  !  I  hope  in  goodness  there 
will  be  a  contest,  Mr.  Malony,  don't  you  V^ 

"  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  for  my  own  share,  I  would  desire  no- 
thing better,  but,  of  course,  on  Lord  Warringdon's  account,  I 
Avish  there  may  not  be  one." 

"  Oh,  what  harm  would  it  do  him !"  Barham  asked. 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  know  the  expense  of  a  contest- 
ed election)" 

"  Pshaw  !  what  is  the  use  of  money,  but  to  amuse  oneself?    I 


140  CANVASSING. 

am  sure  I  would  rather  spend  it  on  fun  than  on  any  thing  else  in 
the  world." 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  now,  O'Reilly]"  Mr.  Malony  demand- 
ed, triumphantly,— "do  you  still  hold  out  that  there  will  be  a 
contest  r' 

"Yes,  for  Archer's  friends  speak  as  resolutely  as  ever." 

"  Pooh !  they  may  bluster,  but,  take  my  word  for  it,  they 
will  never  come  to  the  poll.  Hav'n't  we  all  the  great  in- 
terests of  the  county  ]  and  which  have  theyl  not  even  Me  Al- 
pine's." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  him,  I  advise  you  ;  Archer  has  been  for 
the  last  week  at  Mount  Pleasant,  tampering,  you  will  find,  with 
Lord  Templemore,  and  talking  over  Mc  Alpine." 

"  Talking  over  the  devil,  man !"  exclaimed  Malony,  impa- 
tiently,— "  how  can  he  go  in  the  teeth  of  his  promise  ]— did  he 
not  tell  Lady  Anne  and  Mr.  Wilmot,  his  and  their  interest  should 
go  together  ]" 

"  And  would  this  be  the  first  time  of  his  saying  one  thing 
and  doing  another  T  Don't  you  know  he  is  an  eel,  that  can 
wriggle  himself  out  of  the  closest  tied  and  most  elaborately 
eonstmcted  knot^  ever  devised  by  the  ingenuity  of  manl — 
more  particularly  on  this  occasion,  that  he  has  wounded  feelings 
to  talk  about." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha! — the  deuce  mend  him!  Isabel  Wilmot  served 
him  right,  cursed,  prosing  fool !  but  no  matter  for  that,  he  pro- 
mised, and  there's  an  end  of  it; — he  can't— he  dare  not — go 
back  at  it.  If  he  owes  you  a  grudge^^"  Mr.  Malony  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Lord  Warringdon,  "  in  the  name  of  heaven,  why  does  he 
not  call  you  out,  and  shoot  you  at  once  ; — that  would  be  a  hand- 
gome,  gentlemanlike  way  of  settling  the  business.  But,  curse  it ! 
to  break  one's  promise  to  a  man,  because  he  and  you  happened  to 
like  the  same  girl,  and  she  chose  you  rather  than  him, — that 
would  be  confounded  shabby ! — I  tell  you  what,  my  lord,  if  I  had 
teen  in  his  place,  I  would  have  shot  you  as  dead  as  a  door  nail ; 
but  I  would  have  voted  for  you  all  the  same,  because  I  pro- 
mised." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  bravo,  paddy !  shoot  him  first,  and  vote  for  him  af- 
terwards !  Oh,  what  a  capital  ball !"  shouted  Barham,  clapping 
Malony  on  the  back. 

"I  did  not  say  so,  man,"  Malony  replied,  rather  sulkily. 

"  Oh  you  did  !  you  positively  did  !  '  I'd  have  shot  you  as  dead 
«s  a  door  nail,  but  I  would  have  voted  for  you  all  the  same,' — those 
were  your  very  words;  oh,  'tis  a  regular  bull!"  and  Barham 
cubbed  his  hands,  with  delight. 

-**  It  is  Ro  bull  at  all,  I  tell  you,"  insisted  Mc.  Malony,    "  Pray, 


CANVASSING.  14l 

why  might  I  not  shoot  him,  and  vote  for  liim,  at  the  same  timel — 
vote  for  him  first,  of  course,  and  shoot  him  afterwards.  You 
should  not  take  a  man  up  till  he  is  down,  my  good  fellow." 

"  Oh,  but  you  were  down  I  the  way  you  say  it  now  is  not  the 
way  you  said  it  at  first, — no,  no  !  that's  no  go.  It  was  a  regular 
bull  !  so  there's  no  use  in  denying  it.  I  hope  I  sha'n't  forget  to 
tell  it  to  Miss  VVilmot, — what  fun  we  shall  have !" 

"  Take  a  friend's  advice,  and  make  fun  of  something  else," 
said  Mr.  Malony,  slowly  and  emphatically. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  may  not  laugh  at  you,  as  well  as  any  body 
else,  Mr.  Malony  ?" 

"  You  must  not,  if!  bid  you  not." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall,  though,"  Barham  insisted,  with  boyish  obsti- 
nacy. 

"  I  tell  you  once  more,  that  I  advise  you  not,"  said  Mr.  Malo- 
-iiy,  looking  very  dark. 

"  Suppose  I  don't  choose  to  take  your  advice,  what  then  1"  que- 
ried Barham. 

"  Why  then  I  will  show  an  English  ass  what  he  gets  by  med- 
dling with  an  Irish  bull  !"  and  the  tall  and  formidable  Mr.  Malony 
squared  his  broad  shoulders,  and  scowled  from  beneath  his  heavy 
beetle  brows,  at  the  simple  wilful  boy. 

"An  English  ass!"  cried  Barham,  his  smooth,  almost  childish, 
fixce  rppayingr,  ns  wpH  •''°  '^  "^yp  ?M**i  the  menacing  looks  of  hiS 
antagonist :  "  how  dare  you  call  me  ap  English  assf''  and  his  hand 
was  raised  to  suit  the  action  to  the  words,  when  his  arm  was  ar- 
rested by  Mr.  O'Reilly. 

"Nonsense,  Barham,  he  did  not  mean  it — it  was  only  a  jest." 

"A  jest !  no,  no, — I  am  not  quite  greenhorn  enough  to  be  made 
believe  that  a  thing  is  a  jest  which  is  not  one.  Tiiank  you,  Mr. 
O'Reilly,  not  quite  ass  enough  for  that ! — Let  me  go,  I  say  !"  and 
Barham  struggled  violently,  though  ineffectually,  in  O'Reilly's 
grasp. 

"Malony,"  said  the  young  priest,  who,  by  virtue  of  the  sanctity 
of  his  profession,  might  venture  to  approach  the  tiger  in  his  wrath; 
"  is  it  worth  while  to  quarrel  with  a  friend  for  a  foolish  word?— 
any  man  may  take  a  jest, — come  ;  say  that  you  are  sorry  for  the 
expressions  you  made  use  of,  and  shake  hands, — Malony  !" 

"Mr.  O'Reilly,  mind  your  own  business,  if  you  please,  and  don't 
give  yourself  any  trouble  about  mine,"  Mr.  Malony  replied. 

"  Let  me  go,  let  mc  go  !"  Barham  still  continued  to  vociferate, 
"  I  want  to  give  him  his  answer." 

"And  what  might  that  answer  be  1"  demanded  Mr.  Malony. 

"  A  pitch  into  your  face  !"  roared  Mr.  Barham. 

"  Now  we  are  quits  then  I"  replied  Malony,  tossing  his  glove 


k 


142  CANVA.SSING. 

to  Barham.  "  Any  one  that  wants  me,"  he  added,  looking  at  the 
young  Englishman,  "  will  find  me  at  Costelloe's  hotel.  Good 
morning  to  you,  gentlemen  i"  and  he  stalked  out  of  the  room  very 
like  an  angry  turkey-cock. 

"  You  have  done  a  very  silly  thing,  Barham,"  said  O'Reilly, 
"to  think  of  quarrelling  with  the  greatest  fire-eater  in  the  coun- 
ty, for  the  sake  of  a  stupid  jest ;  I  wish  you  had  not  said  what  you 
did  about  the  blow,  and  we  might  have  ^ot  you  out  of  it,  after  all !' ' 

"And  pray  how  do  you  know,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  that  I  wanted  you 
to  get  me  out  of  it  7 — do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  him  ? — no, — nor 
wouldn't  if  he  was  twice  as  big  and^s  savage  as  he  is. — I  don't 
care  one  straw  about  himself,  or  his  fire-eating,  I  can  tell  him. 
Oh,  Lord  Warringdon,  we  are  both  English, — will  you  then  be 
my  friend,  and  take  a  message  for  me  to  him  1" 

"Why,  I  should  indeed  be  most  happy  to  oblige  you,  my  dear 
Barham,"  replied  his  lordship,  "but  you  are  aware  that  Mr.  Ma- 
iony  is  one  of  my  most  zealous  and  efficient  electioneering 
friends ;  so  that  I  could  not  possibly  act  against  him." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  I  must  only  do  the  best  T  can  ;"  and  Barham 
sallied  forth  in  quest  of  a  friend,  (a  friend  1)  to  arrange  prelimi- 
naries for  getting  himself  shot,  or  making  him  shoot  anothdr  per- 
son as  soon  as  possible. 

"I  must  go  immediately,  and  have  them  bound  over,"  said 
O'Reitly. 

"  Do,  for  pity's  sake '."  replied  the  Viscount,  "  it  would  be  a 
cursed  nuisance,  indeed,"  he  added,  as  the  door  closed  after  O'Reil* 
ly,  and  he  was  left  alone,  "  if  this  Malony  should  be  shot ;  it  would 
place  me  in  a  very  ticklish  position  with  regard  to  my  election. 
Confound  the  pair  of  them,  they  deserve  to  be  both  shot  for  their 
folly !"  and  his  lordship  looked  over  his  memorandum  book,  to 
Bee  how  many  remained  on  his  lists,  to  be  conciliated,-^and  how, 
A^d  why^  / 


CANVASSING.  14S 


CHAPTER  IX. 


"  Did  ye  hear  the  report,  Miss  Maria  T'  asked  Pat  Murphy^ 
the  following  morning  after  he  had  in  vain  fidgetted  about  the 
room,  in  hopes  of  exciting  her  attention,  or  that  of  Lady  Anne. 

"No,  what  report,  Patl" 

"  The  one.  Miss,  about  Mr.  Barham  and  Mr,  Malony." 

"Why,  what  has  happened  to  them 7" 

"A  terrible  thing.  Miss — 'twas  Jim  Naughtcn  tould  rae,  an' 
he  has  a  good  right  to  know,  wherein,  'twas  himsei'  that  dhruve 
him — he  couldn't  think  what  in  the  world  was  the  matther  whin 
Misther  Costelloe  called  him  out  of  his  sleep  this  morning,  and 
says  he  to  him,  Jim,  says  he — " 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  Pat,"  interrupted  Maria,  "  what  Mister 
Costelloe  said  to  Jim,  only  tell  us  at  once  what  Jim  said  to 
you." 

"  Sure,  Miss,  that's  what  I'm  doin' — all  I'm  tellin'  you  is  what 
Jim  tould  me." 

"  *  Jim,'  says  Misther  Costelloe,  '  get  up  this  minute,  an'  dhrive 
as  fast  as  if  the  divil  was  at  your  heels,  to  the  barracks,  for 
Misther  Barham  that's  goin'  to  fight  a  duel  with  Mr.  Molony, 
beyant  at  Kilmore,  at  break  o'  day." 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Lady  Anne,  "Barham  gone  to 
fight  with  Malony !  'Tis  all  over  with  us,  my  dear  Maria,"  she 
added,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  and  after  all  the  trouble  we  have  had  ! 
It  is  really  too  provoking." 

"  Bad  enough,"  replied  Maria,  in  the  same  tone  ;  "  however, 
you  know  all  is  not  always  lost  that  is  in  danger.  Come,  Pat, 
finish  your  story,  and  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

"I  will.  Miss." 

"  By  the  powers,  then,  says  Jim,  I'm  goin'  to  dhrive  a  man  I'll 
niver  dhrive  agin  any  how,  the  crature,  if  it's  wid  Mr.  Malony 
he's  goin'  to  fight,  Misther  Costelloe ;  for  he's  the  divil  itsel'  wid 
the  pistuls,  the  greatest  fire-ater  in  the  Province,  barrin'  the 
maetber." 


144  CANVASSING. 

"Och,  Jim,"  says  Mr.  Costelloe,  "  who  is  there  we'd  think  of 
comparing'  with  Mr.  Wilmot,  in  regard  of  fire-atinoc ;  he's  the 
wondher  of  Ireland,  not  to  talk  of  the  Province,  Jim." 

"  You  never  seen  a  man,  mce  lady,  fondher  of  another  than 
what  Mr.  Costelloe  is  of  the  masther; — and  good  right  he  has, 
troth; — isn't  it  the  masther  made  him  what  he  is?  and  Mrs. 
Costelloe  fondher  agin,  an' — " 

"  Oh  yes,  Im  sure  they  are,  Pat,  as  fond  as  possible  of  my 
father,  and  we  are  greatly  obliged  to  them,  but  go  on,  and  tell  us 
what  has  become  of  Mr.  Barham,"  interrupted  Maria,  rather  im- 
patiently. 

"  Well,  Miss,  Jim  got  up,  and  dhruve  Mr.  Barham,  and  his 
second,  Capt.  Williams,  the  fine  cliver-looking  gentleman  that 
was  up  at  the  Castle  the  night  of  the  ball,  you  remember.  Miss? 
an  Englishman,  with  big  whiskers.  Well,  Father  O'Reilly 
thought  to  bind  'em  over,  an'  sint  to  Costelloe's  to  thry  and  catch 
""em  ;  but,  faith,  Misther  Malony  was  too  many  for  him;  and  he 
hid  himscl'  and  Misther  Barham  between  the  matthrasses  of  one 
of  the  beds,  and  there  they  were  suffocating,  an'  afeard  o'  their 
lives  they'd  be  nabbed,  but  by  great  good  look  they  warn't ;  not 
but,  indeed,  Misther  Barham  a'most  ruined  it  all  by  his  foolish- 
ness, laugiiin'  so,  you'd  think  the  life  would  lave  him,  shakin' 
undher  the  bed,  an'  Misther  Malony  fit  to  be  tied,  he  was  so  mad 
wid  him,  but  not  darin'  to  spake,  for  fear  would  the  peace  officers 
hear  him.     Well,  as  soon  as  they  wint,  he  made  Misther  Barham 

fo  sleep  at  the  barracks,  to  be  out  of  harum's  way,  an'  he  wint 
imsel'  to  a  frind  of  his  at  Kilmore,  to  be  on  the  spot  airly." 

"Well,  and  how  are  they  both  now,  Pat?"  demanded  both 
ladies  at  once,  taking  advantage  of  the  narrator's  stopping  to  draw 
his  breath. 

"  Faith,  raee  Lady,  badly  enough.  Misther  Malony  is  kilt  as 
dead  as  a  herring,  and  Misther  Barham  is  lying,  not  expected  to 
live,  at  a  small  public  house  Father  O'Reilly  brought  him  to." 

"Heavenly  Powers!"  exclaimed  Lady  Anne. 

"I  never  believe  half  what  I  hear,"  observed  Maria.  "  What 
was  the  quarrel  about,  Pat?" 

"About  a  lady.  Miss." 

"A  lady  !"  cried  Maria,  "what  lady?" 

"Pat,  order  the  carriage!  I  will  see  O'Reilly  immediately ; 
that  is  the  only  way  of  ascertaining  the  truth  of  the  story." 

"  If  he  should  die?"  said  Lady  Anne. 

"It  would  be  a  bad  business,"  answered  Maria. 

"  Deplorable,  indeed!"  sighed  Lady  Anne, 

She  stepped  into  her  carriage,  and  drove  off. 


CANVASSING.  179 

The  streets  were  thronged  with  Castle  Wilmot  freeholders 
hurrahing-,  and  shouting-  ""  Warring-don  forever," — Jim  Naugh- 
ten's  report  of  the  English  lord's  generosity,  and  of  his  being 
in  "every  perticklar,  the  thruth  of  a  gintleman,"  (in  support  of 
which  assertion,  the  compliment  of  the  five  pound  note  was  not 
forgotten,)  had  already  secured  him  an  overwhelming  majority 
of  the  dhrivers,  butchers,  grocers,  and  butchers'  and  grocers' 
boys,  waiters,  ostlers,  carmen,  beggars,  and  such  like  gentry  of 
the  town — and  Jim  was  now  flying  about  in  all  directions,  wav- 
ing his  hat,  and  jumping  over  his  stick,  collecting  his  boys,  and 
exhorting  them  for  the  honour  of  God,  and  of  their  town,  to  be 
sure  and°break  the  head  of  every  Archer,  who  should  dare  shew 
himself  in  their  free,  loyal,  and  religious  streets.  _ 

Here  might  be  seen  groups  of  gentlemen,  gesticulating,  and 
thumping  one  another's  shoulders,  in  their  eagerness  to  prove, 
for  the  hundredth  time,  a  position  already  admitted  as  incontro- 
vertible ;  viz.,  the  superior  wisdom,  valour,  and  social  import- 
ance of  every  individual  composing  the  party  to  which  they 
belonged,  and  of  the  consequent  certainty  of  their  triumph.  A 
little  further  on  might  be  observed  some  member  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  priesthood,  more  quietly,  but  not  less  zealously, 
haranguing  as  attentive  audience  on  the  liberal  and  enlightened 
principles  of  the  Right  Honourable  Viscount,  who  was  pro- 
claimed by  them,  and  admitted  by  their  listeners,  to  be  an  hon- 
our to  England,  and  anticipated  as  a  blessing  to  Ireland. 

Nor  were  the  female  part  of  the  population  indifferent  specta- 
tors of  the  preparations  for  the  approaching  struggle,  which  en- 
grossed their  husbands,  fathers,  lovers,  brothers,  or  friends; 
there  they  were,  elbowing,  scolding,  and  all  but  shooting  who- 
ever presumed  to  gainsay  their  fiat,  that  Lord  Warringdon,  and 
none  but  he,  should  be  returned  for  their  town. 

The  ladies  being  among  his  most  zealous  advocates, — first, 
because  he  was  not  an  Orangeman  ;  and,  secondly,  because  he 
was  young  and  handsome: — the  old  ones  might  be  seen  hurry- 
ing to  chapel  to  pray  for  him,  while  the  young  ones,  sauntering 
up  and  down  the  square,  listening  to  the  band,  or  standing  look- 
ing out  at  window,  flirted  for  him  ;  exhorting  those  already 
his  friends,  confirming  the  vacillating,  and  endeavouring,  by 
smiles,  or  poutings,  to  cajole,  or  frighten,  his  declared  enemies, 
— kneeling  to  some,  almost  embracing  others;  and  how  could 
they  do  less  for  so  handsome,  so  gallant  a  candidate,  who  had 
given  a  ball  at  the  assembly-rooms,  and  had  danced  with  "every 
girl  of  consequence"  in  the  room?  Besides,  he  had  such  beau- 
tiful dark  eyes,  and  he  made  such  an  elegant  bow,  and  another 
13 


180  CANVASSING. 

besides,  which  they  did  not,  however,  add,  but  which  we  will 
do  for  them, — "  Besides,  he  had  all  the  dashing  young  men  of 
the  county  on  his  side  !" 

Nor  were  the  females  of  lower  degree  less  energetic  in  his 
behalf,  groups  of  them  were  gathered  ravmd  the  shop  doors,  or 
hall  doors,  insisting  to  one  another,  and  all  of  the  worthier  gen- 
der {soi  discmf,)  they  could  get  to  listen  to  them,  "  that  it  would 
be  a  murther  outright,  a  mortal  sin,  troth  it  would,  to  disappoint 
such  a  darlin',  purty,  free-spoken,  free-givin'  gintleman,  the 
frind  and  son-in-law  to  be  of  misther  Wilmot,  the  Lord  prosper 
and  purtect  him!" 

We  say  that  all  this  "  might  be  seen,"  but  we  do  not  take 
upon  ourselves  to  assert  that  Lady  Anne  observed  all,  or,  in- 
deed, any  of  the  bustling,  good-humoured,  lively  scenes  passing 
around  her,  so  completely  was  her  interest  in  Warringdon's 
election  lost  in  her  fears  for  Barham's  life. 

She  was  roused  from  her  somewhat  unpleasant  reflections,  by 
loud  and  vehement  shouts  of  w-elcome,  from  the  mob  of  the 
town,  and  "  loyal"  and  affectionate  greetings  from  the  Castle 
AYilmot  tenantry,  when  they  recognized  the  carriage,  as  Bartly 
Kilfoy  tried  to  steer  it  through  the  dense  mass  of  human  beings, 
which  encumbered  its  progress  without  overturning  it  or  crush- 
ing them. 

"  High  for  her  ladyship!  high  for  the  master!  hurrah  for  the 
English  lord!  Warringdon  for  ever!  Wilmot  for  ever!  success 
to  them,  and  the  divil's  curse  to  their  inemies!"  and  various 
other  equally  "  neat  and  appropriate"  expressions  of  zeal  and 
attachment,  were  poured  forth  in  chorus  from  hundreds  of  rough 
throats. 

"  Whisht,  boys,  whisht!  and  God  bless  ye!"  cried  Bartly  Kil- 
foy, "  or  ye'll  frighten  the  horses!" 

"Frightin  'em!  is  it  the  Castle  Wilmot  horses  to  be  fright- 
ened at  the  boys  hurrahing  for  their  master?  faith,  they  have  a 
good  right  to  be  used  to  it,  by  this  time,  any  how." 

But  The  Castle  Wilmot  horses,  like  some  ladies,  were  capri- 
cious animals,  and  chose,  despite  of  the  good  reason  just  ad- 
duced, to  be  nervous  and  agitated,  so  they  began  to  plunge,  and 
lash,  Bartley  Kilfoy  to  coax  and  curse  by  turns,  and  Lady  Anne 
to  scream. 

"  Never  fear,  my  lady,  never  fear!"  cried  the  wild  crowd, 
around  her.  "  Take  them  stupid  bastes  off,  Bartly,  and  we'll 
dhraw  her  ladyship  ourselves." 

And  now  a  violent  contest  ensued  between  "  her  own  boys," 
as  they  called  themselves,  and  "  the  boys  of  the  town,"  for  the 


-      CANVASSING.  181 

honour  of  drawing  her.  And  while  they  roared,  and  cursed, 
and  shouldered  one  another,  the  unfortunate  victim  of  their  gal- 
lant contention  was  knocked  from  side  to  side  of  the  disputed 
vehicle,  till  she  lay  exhausted,  scarcely  able  even  to  shriek  out 
to  them,  to  "  keep  the  peace." 

"Oh  we  will,  me  lady,  and  why  notl  sure  arn't  we  pacea- 
ble]  quite  paceable — get  out  o'  that  ye  vagabones,  and  don't  he 
frightening  her  ladyship!  what  call  have  ye  to  her  at  alii  we 
are  her  own  boys — glory  be  to  God,  and  knows  how  she  ought 
to  be  thrated." 

"  An'  isn't  she  in  our  townl  'tis  we  that  has  the  best  right 
to  her — so  be  off  this  moment,  or  we'll  make  ye — be  off,  ye 
sheep-stalersl"  vociferated  the  boys  of  the  town. 

"Ye  bred  and  born  murdhering  villains,  how  dare  ye  call 
us  that?"  roared  the  insulted  Castle  Wilmots — and  up  flew  hun- 
dreds of  shillelaghs,  and  off  flew  hundreds  of  hats,  as  the  said 
shillelaghs  descended,  accompanied  by  yells  and  execrations, 
such  as  none  but  Irishmen  can  utter,  and  which  poor  Lady 
Anne  listened  to  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

Just  at  that  moment  Mr.  O'Reilly  appeared;  flung  himself 
in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  and  down  went  the  sticks  at  once. 

"'Tis  our  own  towm,  you  know,  father  O'Reilly!"  one  party 
submissively  represented. 

"  We  are  her  own  boys:"  expostulated  the  others. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  ye  all,  town  and  country;"  answered  the 
young  priest,  "  gather  up  your  sticks  and  hats,  you  quarrelsome, 
good  for  nothing  fellows,  and  begone!  a  pretty  way,  indeed,  of 
shewing  your  respect  for  a  lady,  to  frighten  her  out  of  her 
senses — 1  am  ashamed  of  ye!" 

"  My  dear  O'Reilly,"  said  Lady  Anne,  "  I  have  been  in 
search  of  you  for  the  last  hour,  to  hear  something  about  unfor- 
tunate Barham;  he  is  mortally  wounded,  I  understand." 

"  Oh  no!  no  such  thing— 'tis  a  mere  flesh  wound,  and  he  will 
be  as  well  as  ever,  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Thank  God!"  piously  ejaculated  Lady  Anne. 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  poor  Molony's  arm  is  broken."  ""^ 

"  Oh,  only  that!  I  heard  that  he  was  killed;"  Lady  Anne 
replied  with  indifference.  "  But,  tell  me,  was  the  quarrel  about 
a  ladyV 

O'Reilly  laughed—"  Make  your  mind  easy,  on  that  head!  no 
—the  dispute  was  about  a  bull,  not  a  lady.  By  the  way,  Bar- 
ham,  with  all  his  folly  and  foolishness,  is  a  fine  fellow:  you 
will  not  have  to  find  the  courage,  as  well  as  sense,  of  the  me- 


182 


CANVASSING. 


7iage^  and  that  is  some  comfort.  I  am  glad,  more  glad  than  I 
can  tell,  that  at  least,  in  that  respect,  he  is  not  unworthy  of 
Maria  Wilmot;  not  utterly  contemptible;  still  it  is  a  terrible 
sacrifice!" 

""Nonsense,  my  dear  O'Reilly — sixteen  thousand  a  year  may 
reconcile  any  woman  to  a  fool — and  I  am  very  sorry  I  cannot 
add  another  epithet — for  the  more  courage  he  has,  the  more  dif- 
ficult it  will  be  to  manage  him — I  shall  never  be  able  to  frighten 
hiiii,  I  fear." 

O'Reilly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  sighed,  and  jumped  into 
the  carriage,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  court-house. 

To  their  astonishment,  the  first  person  they  saw  on  reaching 
the  hustings,  was  Barham,  pushing  a  way  for  himself,  and  his 
late  antagonist,  who  was  shouting  with  pain  and  enthusiasm. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Molony,  how  could  you  be  mad  enough 
to  come  here  with  a  broken  arm?"  asked  O'Reilly,  who  had 
run  after  the  duellists  of  the  morning,  atid  bosom-friends  of  mid- 
day. 

"  What  matter  about  it]  I  wanted  to  see  the  sport;  I  was 
going  mad  there  at  Costelloe's,  listening  to  the  hurrahing,  and 
I,  in  bed,  having  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  begged  the  doctor, 
and  people  for  God  sake  to  let  me  come,  but  they  wouldn't — 
so  I  waited  awhile,  and  presently  they  all  set  off  here,  and  left 
me — and  then  I  got  up  softly  and  went  to  Barham's  room,  to 
ask  him  to  help  me  on  with  my  clotlies,  and  there  I  found  him 
dressing  too,  so  we  agreed  to  come  away  together — we  nicked 
them,  didn't  we  Barham?" 

"I  think,"  observed  O'Reilly  smiling,  "that  you  will  find 
yourself 'nicked'  into  a  fever-a-piece  for  this  exploit." 

"  Capital  fun!"  exclaimed  Barham,  '•  do  you  know,  Malony, 
I  was  just  thinking  how  droll  it  is  that  you  and  I  should  be 
here  such  good  friends,  arm  in  arm,  after  what  happened  this 
morning?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all,  my  dear  fellow — you  are  often  ten  times  bet- 
ter friends  than  ever  with  a  man  after  fighting  him;  that  is  to 
say,  if  you  don't  happen  to  kill  him,  you  know — it  brings  you 
acquainted  with  a  man  at  once — you  see  directly  what  he  is 
made  of — now  for  instance,  only  for  that  little  misunderstanding 
between  us,  T  might  never  have  liked  you,  or  respected  you  as 
I  do  at  present;  for  now  1  see  you  are  a  stout  fellow,  as  well  as 
a  right  good-natured  one,  and  a  devilish  good  -shot,  into  the 
bargain,  and  I  assure  you  I  am  uncommonly  glad  I  did  not  kill 
you  this  morning." 


CANVASSING.  183 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Molony,  for 
all  your  good-nature — and  believe  me,  the  regard  is  mutual," 
answered  Barham,  grasping  the  hand  of  his  companion.— 

"Listen,  listen,"  cried  O'Reilley,  "Warringdon  is  going  to 
speak." 

><^We  will  not,  however,  trouble  our  readers  with  a  detail  of 
his  lordship's  harangue;  we  think  it  sufficient  to  state  that  it 
contained  the  usual  common-places,  about  himself  and  his  con- 
stituency, profession  of  devotion  to  their  interests,  praise  of  him- 
self, and  abuse  of  his  opponent,  to  be  found  in  all  public  dis- 
plays of  the  same  nature,  throughout  the  united  Empire,  with 
the  addition,  in  this  case,  of  much  vehement  and  energetic  de- 
clamation in  favour  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  assurances 
of  his  ardent  zeal  in  the  "  great  cause." 

His  oration  was  received  with  loud  acclamation,  and  cries  of 
"Warringdon  for  ever!  The  true  friend  of  Ireland  and  the 
county!  no  double  daling  in  him!  but  comes  to  the  point  at 
once,  and  spakes  his  mind  plainly." 

Mr.  Archer  then  came  forward,  and  was  received  with  o-roans, 
and  hisses,  not  a  few,  cries  of  "  Down  with  the  Orangeman! 
down  with  the  black  protestant!  that  wants  to  keep  all  the 
loaves  and  fishes  to  himself!  and  down  with  the  thraitors  and 
tyrants  that  support  him!  to  the  divil  wid  them  all!" 

The  show  of  hands  was  declared,  by  the  High  Sheriff,  to  be 
in  favour  of  Viscount  Warringdon.  But  Mr.  Archer's  friends 
demanded  a  poll;  and  accordingly,  a  man  was  polled  on  each 
side,  and  the  court-house  was  soon  after  cleared  of  its  noisy 
occupants,  both  parties  talking  big  of  their  hopes  of  the  morrow, 
when  the  "  battle"  was  to  begin  in  earnest. 


13^ 


CHAPTER  X. 


The  eventful  morning  came,  and  the  whole  town  was  alive  at 
the  dawn  of  day;  crowds  of  partizans  of  all  ages  and  ranks 
gathering-  round  the  committee-rooms  of  the  opposing  candi- 
dates; electioneering  agents,  oratorizing,  explaining,  or  mysti- 
fying, as  suited  their  purpose;  looking  over  certificates,  and 
'"  making  Pat  Conny  sinsihle  he  was  only  to  be  Pat  Conny  the 
first  time  he  voted,  but  Dennis  Sleevan,  the  second  time,  in  re- 
gard of  poor  Dennis  not  being  convanient  just  then,  because  he 
was  berried  last  week;  and  reminding  Martin  Donovan,  he 
musn't  forget  to  slip  a  flea  inside  his  lase,  that  he  might  swear 
with  a  safe  conscience,  that  the  life  in  it  was  still  in  existence," 
and  other  trifling,  though  necessary,  arrangements,  for  the  pro- 
per carrying  on  of  their  employer's  interests;  and  voters  v/ere 
eating,  drinking,  shouting,  laughing,  and  whirling  their  ferrals 
to  give  them  "the  raal  fighting  touch,"  and  among  the  noisiest 
of  the  noisy,  as  in  duty  bound,  were  the  Castle  Wilmot  boys, 
who  strove  hard,  by  all  the  means  in  their  power,  to  keep  up  the 
honour  of  "  the  family,"  and  make  as  much  riot  as  possible. 

"  Which  of  you  has  seen  or  heard  any  thing  of  McAlpine?" 
demanded  Mr.  Malony,  as  he  entered  Lord  Warringdon's  com- 
mittee-room, his  face  flushed  from  pain  and  impatience. 

"  Still  at  Mount  Pleasant,  I  suppose,"  replied  one  of  the 
group  he  addressed. 

*'  Still  at  Mount  Pleasant!  confound  him!  what  is  he  doing 
therel" 

"  Making  love  to  Lady  Mary  Pemberton,  I  hear." 

"  Making  love  to  the  devil,  man! — why  isn't  he  here?  who 
ever  heard  of  a  man  leaving  his  freeholders  to  themselves  in 
this  way]  how  can  he  tell  who  they  vote  for  when  he's  not  on 
the  spot?  Making  love  indeed!  the  bletherem  skite  of  a  fellow! 
always  bothering  some  woman  or  other  with  his  cursed  poetry, 
or  romance,  and  she  wishing  him  at  the  devil  all  the  while,  for 


<-\ 


CANVASSING.  185 

his  pains.  I  bring  up  my  men  myself,  my  Lord;  I  take  care 
that  nobody  dare  meddle  with  a  freeholder  of  mine,  or  I'd  pat  a 
bullet  throuorh  his  head,  and  distrain  every  beast  belonging  to 
the  tenant  who  dared  even  to  think  of  voting  according  to  his 
own  vagaries.     Making  love,  indeed — the  numbskull!" 

Mr.  Malony's  invective  against  the  romantic  Mr.  McAlpine 
was  cut  short  by  Father  John  Molloy's  entrance,  looking  as  if 
he  were  the  bearer  of  portentous  information.  Lord  Warring- 
don  advanced,  and  shook  hands  most  cordially  with  "his  kind 
and  excellent  friend,  Mr.  Molloy." 

"  My  lord,  I  am  credibly  informed  that  there's  a  batch  of  Mc 
Alpines  in  town,  along  with  Archer's  men!"  and  the  worthy 
priest  accompanied  this  startling  intelligence  with  an  ominous 
shake  of  the  head. 

"Pooh!  pooh!  Father  John:  'tis  impossible,"  Malony  inter- 
rupted. "  Is  it  the  McAlpine  servants  who  are  at  rack-rents, 
and  dare  not  call  their  souls  their  own!  Do  you  think  they 
would  have  the  courage  to  vote  against  his  orders'?  not  they." 

"  But,  Mr.  Malony,  what  do  you  say,  if  'tis  by  his  orders 
they  are  voting]" 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  wants  to  have  cold  lead  lodged  in  his 
brains?"  quietly  demanded,  in  his  turn,  Mr.  Malony. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  have  you  ascertained  that  Mr.  McAlpine 
has  sent  down  his  men  for  Mr.  Archer]"  queried  the  Viscount. 

"  Why,  my  Lord,  I  have  it  on  good  authority  that  he  has.  A 
sister  of  Pat  .Sullivan's  wife  (Mr.  McAlpine's  foster-brother, 
you  know,  Mr.  Malony)  told  Mrs.  Mc  Donogh's  daughter's  hus- 
band, a  first  cousin  of  her  own,  and  nurse  to  Mr.  Wilmot,  that 
Mr.  McAlpine's  agent,  Misther  Fahy,  had  sent  back  orders  to 
Pat  Sullivan,  for  all  the  men,  them  that  lived  by  the  say-side, 
and  them  that  did  not,  to  come  down  by  wather,  unknownst,  for 
fear  would  any  of  the  Castle  Wilmots  murdher  'em,  if  they 
come  by  the  road;  but  to  take  care  for  his  life  would  Pat  Sulli- 
van let  on,  'twas  his  masther  that  bid  him." 

Here  "  Rascal,  scoundrel,  blackguard,  liar, coward,"  and  other 
synonymous  and  equally  euphonious  epithets  arose  from  all 
parts  of  the  room,  coupled  with  the  name  of  Peter  McAlpine 
of  McAlpine  castle. 

"The  only  way  in  the  world  is  to  send  him  a  message  at 
once,"  observed  Mr.  Malony.  "  Here,  my  Lord,  sit  down,  I'll 
get  you  a  pen  and  ink  in  a  minute; — now  for  it!"  he  cried, 
clapping  the  table  with  the  only  hand  he  had  at  liberty. 

"  Now  for  it!"  echoed  all  the  bye-standers. 

"  The  cannibals!"  muttered  the  Viscount.     "  But,"  he  added. 


186  CANVASSING. 

aloud,  "before  I  send  Mr.  McAlpine  a  message,  I  think  we 
should  have  better  authority  than  that  of  foster-brothers  and 
nurses.  How  can  we  tell  whether  one  word  of  this  story  be 
true?  My  respected  friend  here,  Mr.  Molloy,  does  not  give  it 
on  his  own  authority,  or  it  would,  of  course,  be  conclusive." 

"  Oh,  well, — may  be  so,"  Mr.  Malony  reluctantly  acquiesced. 
"  However,"  he  added,  "  you  may  as  well  write  the  letter,  my 
Lord,  to  have  it  ready  to  send  when  we  want  it,  for  I  dare  say, 
before  the  election  is  over,  he  will  be  playing  us  a  trick,  and 
then  we  have  our  challenge  written,  and  nothing  to  do  but  to 
dash  it  off;  and  even  if  we  shouldn't  want  it  for  him,  we  shall 
for  somebody  else;  with  a  few  alterations,  you  know,  the  same 
copy  will  serve  for  a  dozen  different  people." 

Lord  Warringdon  did  not  much  relish  the  idea  of  an  assort- 
ment of  ready-made  challenges,  but,  however,  he  was  too  pru- 
dent to  object  to  the  proposal;  and,  in  a  very  few  minutes,  a  letter 
full  of  flogging,  posting,  and  shooting,  dictated  by  Mr.  Malony, 
and  penned  by  his  lordship,  was  read  aloud,  to  the  great  delight 
and  admiration  of  the  company  at  large. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  am  in  great  hopes  that  you  will  have  to 
fight  McAlpine:  it  would  make  you  so  popular  with  the  mob! 
for  the  fi(jhtin^  candidate  has  always  the  best  chance,  you  know, 
of  being  the  sitting  member.  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Wilmot  would 
not  have  kept  the  county  so  long,  but  for  his  handiness  with 
the  pistols.  He  fought  four  men  one  morning  before  breakfast, 
and  wounded  them  all, — don't  you  remember,  O'Leary?"  Mr. 
Malony  added,  turning  to  thefelectioneering  agent,  en  chef. 

"Aye,  faith,  Mr.  Malony,  but  he  was  left  for  dead  himself, 
you  recollect." 

"  I  know  he  was;  but  what  does  that  signify?  he  gained  his 
return  by  it,  and  never  would  else;  for  the  opposite  party,  by 
bribing,  and  tricking,  and  telling  lies,  of  one  kind  or  other, 
had  contrived  to  get  eight  hundred  ahead  of  us,  and  we  had  but 
three  days  left  to  pull  up.  Well,  my  Lord,  the  mob  got  out- 
rageous when  they  heard  Mr.  Wilmot  was  badly  wounded,  and 
they  threatened  to  burn  the  town,  if  he  died  without  being 
elected.  In  all  your  life  you  never  saw  such  a  row;  the  women 
running  about  screeching,  and  clapping  their  hands,  and  swear- 
ing they'd  have  the  lives  of  them  that  took  his;  the  men  shout- 
ing, and  cursing  like  mad.  1  had  my  skull  fractured  by  the  way, 
but  only  in  a  mistake,  you  know;  the  poor  fellows  took  me  for 
somebody  else." 

"  Pleasant  mistake!"  thought  his  lordship. 

"Well,  Mr.  Malony,  and  how  did  it  all  endl" 


CAXVASSING.  ,  187 

"  Oh,  as  well  as  possible,  my  lord:  the  army  was  called  out, 
but  the  Colonel  was  a  friend  of  ours,  and  behaved  very  hand- 
somely, so  we  beat  the  other  party  fairly  out  of  the  town,  and 
Mr.  Wilmot  was  elected  that  very  day." 

"  Mr.  Malony,  I  beg  pardon  for  interrupting  you,"  said  Fa- 
ther John;  "hadn't  we  better  see  after  them  McAlpines;  they'll 
slip  through  our  fingers  else.     I  was  thinking  of  going  myself 

into  the booth,  to  watch  them  as  they  come  in,  and  know 

the  truth  at  once." 

This  idea  met  universal  approbation,  and  accordingly  Father 

John  hurried  to  the booth,  the  strong-hold  of  the  McAlpine 

interest. 

A  batch  of  the  suspected  freeholders  had  arrived  before  him, 
and  a  ragged,  half-starved,  miserable-looking  creature,  was  now 
undergoing  the  usual  interrogatives  by  the  deputy  assessors. 

"  Who  do  I  vote  for,  is  it?  1  vote  for for, by  my  con- 
science, then,  I  can't  remember  the  name  just  at  this  present 
minute.  Misther  Fahy,  Misther  Fahyl  which  of  'em  is  it  you 
tould  me  to  vote  fori"  demanded  the  puzzled  freeholder,  in  a 
stage-whisper. 

"  Archer.  Hav'nt  I  been  able  to  bate  that  into  your  head 
yet,  ye  omadhoun?"  inquired,  in  his  turn,  Mr.  McAlpine's  con- 
fidential man  of  business. 

"  Omadhoun!  Mister  Fahy?"  repeated  the  voter:  "  faith  an' 
the  'cutest  boy  in  the  county  'ud  be  bothered  when  he's  never 
tould  two  days  runnin'  the  same  thing: — one  time  I'm  to  vote 
for  the  English  Lord;  then  I  am'nt,  but  it's  for  Misther  Archer 
I'm  to  wote,  how  are  we  to  know  what's  wanting  of  us  at  all?" 
This  dialogue  excited  shouts  of  jeering  laughter  from  the 
Warringdon  party,  and  cries  of  "  Success  to  ye!  your  scholar 
does  you  credit  Misther  Fahy!  he's  a  nate  boy  at  his  A,  B,  C." 
"  Silence!"  cried  the  deputy  assessor.  "  Your  vote,  my 
honest  man." 

"Archer!  why  don't  you  spake  out  at  onst,  ye  ohnshuch?" 
whispered  Mr.  Fahy,  angrily,  in  the  ear  of  his  very  stupid,  and 
now  somewhat  sulky,  pupil. 

"  Oh,  it's  for  the  English  lord  he's  goin'  to  vote,"  loudly  and 
scoffingly  laughed  the  Warringdons. 

"  By  the  powers!  then,  it  isn't.  I'll  wote  for  neither  of 'em; 
— but  for  my  own  masther,  Mr.  McAlpine,  and  nobody  else," 
replied  the  persecuted  and  displeased  freeholder. 

"  Mr.  McAlpine  is  not  a  candidate,  my  honest  man,"  replied 
the  deputy  assessor. 


188  CANVASSING. 

"  Well,  for  Miss  Kitty,  then!" 

This  answer  was  received  with,  shouts  of  laughter  by  the 
Warringdous,  and  with  muttered  curses  by  the  Archers. 

"  Ladies  are  never  elected  to  serve  in  parliament,  my  honest 
inan.  You  must,  therefore,  take  your  choice  of  the  three  can- 
didates in  question,  Viscount  Warringdon,  Mr  Fitzgerald,  and 
Mr.  Archer;  and  make  up  your  mind  at  once,  if  you  please,  for 
you  are  stopping  the  poll  all  this  time." 

"  Faith!  an'  with  the  blessing  of  God,  1  won't  stop  it  any 
longer,"  and  the  indignant  voter  suddenly  turned  round  and 
took  to  his  heels. 

He  was  succeeded  by  another  of  the  batch,  who  got  through 
his  lesson  more  creditable  to  himself,  and  Mr.  Fahy. 

"  My  blessing  to  ye,  Phanick  O'Dea!"  said  Father  John, 
"how  long  is  it  sence  you  turned  Protestant]" 

"Me  turn  Protestan',  is  it.  Father  John!  The  Lord  save  us!" 
And  Phanick  crossed  himself  reverentially.  "  Sure  I'm  no  Pro- 
testan', nor  one  belongin'  to  me;  the  heavens  betwixt  us  an' 
harum!" 

"  If  you  arn't  a  protestant,  and  a  bitther  black  one,  too,  how 
do  ye  come  to  vote  for  the  orange  candidate,  my  man?" 

"  Avoch,  Father  John,  sure  it  isn't  of  our  own  will  we're 
voting!  didn't  Pat  Sullivan  threaten  to  burn  the  houses  over 
our  heads  and  banish  us  the  place,  if  we  didn't  wote  the  way 
we  were  ordheredl  An'  how  would  we  stand  the  counthry, 
Father  John,  if  we  didn't?  always  in  arrares  of  rint,  you 
know." 

"  But,  Phanick,  didn't  your  Masther  promise  the  English 
Lord;  how  can  he  go  back  of  that,  nowl" 

Phanick  twisted  his  hat  between  his  fingers,  shifted  from 
one  leg  to  the  other,  was  silent  a  moment. 

"  It  isn't  for  the  likes  of  us,  you  know,  your  Reverence,  to 
be  faulting  him,  whatever  he'd  do:  sure  he'd  sweep  us  off  the 
face  of  the  earth  if  we  didn't  do  his  biddin!" 
"  But  do  ye  know  it  is  his  biddin',  Phanick?" 
"  Sure  if  it  wasn't,  would  Pat  Sullivan  be  goin'  on  the  way 
he  was,  sthrivin'  to  get  us  down,  and  threatnin'  our  lives,  if  we 
wouldn't  be  said  by  him?" 

"  Michelleen!  Mavourneen!  are  ye  there?"  Father  John  cried, 
turning  towards  the  crowd  of  Castle  Wilmot  freeholders  and 
idlers,  who  crowded  the  booth. 

The  same  little  bare-legged,  red-headed  boy,  already  intro- 
duced to  our  readers,  obeyed  the  summons,  and,  after  having 


CANVASSING.  189 

performed  his  customary  salam  of  pulling  forward  his  hair,  and 

scraping  his  foot,  awaited  deferentially  the  priest's  commands. 

"  Michelleen,  be  off  this  minute,  as  fast  as  ye  can  set  fat  to 

the  ground,  to  Lord  Warringdon's  committee-room,  and " 

And  Michelleen  was  gallopping  off,  when  recalled  by  Father 
John. 

"  Come  back,  ye  little  omadhoun!  is  it  goin'  ye  are  without 
knowin'  what  it  is  ye  are  goin'  for]"  He  continued, — "  go  to 
the  committee-room,  and  tell  Mr.  Malony  I  want  to  spake  to 
him  immediately; — now  away  with  ye,  my  man!" 

In  a  few  minutes  Michelleen  re-appeared,  ushering  in  Mr. 
Malony. 

"  Well,  Father  John,  what  is  it  1" 

"  Which  of  us  was  right  about  McAlpine?  here  are  his  men 
votin'  for  Archer,  and  by  his  orders,  as  1  have  found  out  by  one 
of '  themselves.'  " 

"  Ha!  1  wouldn't  doubt  him,  the  slippery  rascal!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Malony.  "  Where  in  the  world  did  I  leave  the  challenge!" 
he  continued,  searching  his  pockets.  "  Oh,  I  forgot,  it  is  in 
the  committee-room.  Alichelleen!  run  and  tell  Mr.  O'Leary  to 
get  an  express  ready  directly  for  INIount  Pleasant,  and  to  send 
him  after  me  to  Lord  Warringdon's  committee-room.  The 
only  way  to  deal  with  such  a  fellow  as  McAlpine  is  to  frighten 
him.  Father  John;  or,  if  he  is  not  to  be  frightened,  shoot  him 
like  a  dog." 


CHAPTER  XL 


The  answer  to  the  hostile  message  arrived  in  due  course,  and 
was  as  follows: — 

My  Lord, 

You  appear  to  me  to  have  made  an  extraordinary  mis- 
take, for  I  am  under  no  promise  to  support  you,  nor  ever  was; 
you  must  remember  1  always  declined  engaging  myself.  It  is 
true  that  I  have  declared  my  intention  of  voting  for  you,  but  I 
never  bound  myself  by  a  distinct  promise.  A  declaration  is 
one  thing, — a  promise  another.  Such  being  the  state  of  the 
case  between  us,  I  have  promised  to  support  Mr.  Archer,  and 
cannot  see  how,  in  so  doing,  I  deserve  the  imputation  contained 


190  CANVASSING. 


in  your  lordship's  favour,  received  this  day,  of"  dishonourable 
conduct."  However,  as  you  have  been  led,  as  you  say,  to  de- 
pend upon  my  support,  I  will  manage  thus: — I  give  my  personal 
vote  (as  I  have  promised)  to  Mr.  Archer,  and  my  people  I  leave 
to  themselves. 

1  have  the  honour  to  remain,  &c." 

"  It  is  all  right,  you  see,"  observed  the  young  Viscount,  not 
sorry  to  be  rid  of  a  pistolling  match,  to  his  friends  assembled 
in  full  divan. 

"All  right,  my  Lord!  all  right?  any  thing  but  that; — all 
wrong,  you  mean!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Malony. 

"  Why,  does  he  not  leave  his  men  to  themselves?  and  is  not 
that  just  what  we  wanted?"  asked  the  candidate. 

"  Oh,  the  schemer!  doesn't  he  know  well  they  dare  not  go 
against  his  orders,  already  given?  And  the  poltroon  won't 
fight!  you  see  how  he  backs  out  of  that!  I  don't  know  what 
we  are  to  do  with  him,  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Malony,  rather  de- 
spondingly. 

"  Never  mind  now,  don't  be  one  bit  unasy,"  interposed  Fa- 
ther John;  "but  give  me  the  letter,  and  I'll  go  among  the 
tenants.  Lave  McAlpine  with  me  Mr.  Malony,  and  I'll  settle 
him,  I  promise  you." 

And  now  what  had  been  only  noise  and  confusion,  became 
wild  tumult,  and  deafening  roar.  The  freed  freeholders  of  the 
McAlpine  estate,  found  their  newly  accorded  liberty  of  think- 
ing and  acting  for  themselves  a  perilous  as  well  as  puzzling 
privilege;  beset  on  one  side  by  Father  John's  eloquence,  and 
the  Warringdon  shillelagh;  and  on  the  other,  by  Mr.  Archer's 
money,  and  fear  of  their  master. 

"  Do  you  want  to  deny  your  religion,  ye  unfortunate  mis- 
guided cratures?"  Father  John  cried,  "oh  thatever  I  should  live 
to  see  a  man  of  my  flock  voting  for  an  orange  candidate  and  pro- 
testant  ascendancy;  and  the  downfall  of  their  own  ancient  thrue 
and  holy  religion!  and  when  I'll  be  witness  agin  ye  at  the 
last  day,  that  I  warned  ye,  but  that  ye  wouldn't  give  heed  to 
me;  how  will  it  be  with  ye  then,  boys?" 

"  Avoch,  Father  John,  bad  enough!  sure  we'd  be  said  by  you 
afore  the  w^orld,  and  why  not  only  for  the  masther,  but  Father 
John?  Oh!  if  we  displase  him,  how  will  it  be  with  us  at  all, 
and  our  long  wake  little  families?" 

"  But  don't  ye  see  his  writing,  boys? — what  more  would  ye 
have!  sure  he  laves  you  to  plaze  yourselves, — doesn't  he,  my 
men?" 

His  auditors,  however,  still  hesitated. 


CANVASSING.  191 

"  If  he  shouldn't  mane  what  he  says,  Father  John?" 

*'  Och,  is  it  making  a  liar  of  your  masther  ye  are?"  queried 
the  orator  with  a  half  laugh. 

"God  help  us!"  they  groaned;  "well,  Father  John,  we'll 
do  your  bidden,  and  vote  for  the  English  Lord." 

"  Do  at  your  peril!"  would  say  Mr.  Fahy;  "  do,  and  I'll 
dhrive  every  mother  son  of  ye,  not  a  baste  ye  have,  that  shan't 
be  in  the  pound  twenty-four  hours  after  you  give  that  vote." 

"  Ohra,  murdher!  what's  to  become  of  us  at  all!"  cried  the 
poor  trembling  wretches. 

And  then  an  electioneering  agent  for  Archer  would  whisper, 
"  A  couple  of  pounds  a  head  boys,  an'  the  best  of  ating  an' 
drinking,  what  do  ye  say  to  that?" 

"  Which  way  do  ye  wote,  ye  vellians  of  the  world?"  the  Jim 
Naughten's  boys,  and  the  Castle  Wilmot's  would  roar,  whirl- 
ing their  "  ferrals." 

"  For  ye,  for  ye!"  they  cried,  more  influenced  by  the  dread 
of  hell-fire  in  prospect,  and  of  a  sound  drubbing  at  the  moment, 
than  by  love  of  money,  or  even  fear  of  being  made  houseless. 

"  Success  to  ye!  glory  to  ye!  hurrah  for  the  thrue  and  staunch 
friends  of  their  religion;  high  for  the  McAlpines!"  the  War- 
ringdon's  shouted. 

"  Ye  impident  blackguards!  ye  shall  pay  for  this, — take  my 
word  for  it,  every  identical  man  o'  ye!"  the  infuriated  agent 
vociferated.  And,  perceiving  some  signs  of  vacillation  of  pur- 
pose in  the  crowd,  he  added: 

"  If  there  are  any  among  ye  will  stand  by  their  masther  and 
their  cabins,  and  the  bastes,  and  their  children,  let  'em  come 
over  to  my  side!" 

A  few  answered  the  appeal. 

"  Ah  the  renegades!  the  apostates!  the  vellains;"  the  Castle 
Wilmots  howled,  as  they  rushed  on  the  small  and  terrified 
band. 

The  yells  and  shrieks  became  so  appalling,  and  there  occurred 
so  many  bleeding  heads  and  fractured  fingers^  that  the  military 
were  called  out,  to  restore  order;  and  indeed,  after  shooting  two 
or  three,  iftid  wounding  twice  as  many  more,  the  military  par- 
tially succeeded  in  this  object. 

But  the  McAlpines  took  advantage  of  the  general  confusion, 
"  to  slip  away  unknown,"  and  return  quietly  to  their  own 
homes,  leaving  the  Archers  and  Warringdons,  to  dispute  as  to 
whom  they  by  right  belonged:  and  great  was  the  astonishment 
and  indignation  of  both  parties,  when  they  discovered  the  ab- 
sence of  the  objects  of  their  contention. 

14 


1 92  CANVASSING. 

The  Warringdons  did  not,  however,  take  any  step  to  bring 
back  the  fugitives,  inasmuch  as  their  previous  anxiety  to  gain 
them  had  been  prompted  rather  by  a  desire  to  detach  them  from 
Archer  (who  had  no  chance  of  succeeding  but  through  the 
McAlpine  interest)  than  by  any  want  of  an  accession  of  voters. 

But  the  Archers  were  determined  not  to  resign,  without  a 
struggle,  their  only  hope;  so  a  deputation  of  gentlemen  of  that 
party,  immediately  set  off  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  freeholders, 
escorted  by  a  detachment  of  military  to  protect  them  through 
**  the  enemy's  country." 

They  overtook  tlie  run-^a-ways  not  far  from  a  village  on  the 
Castle  Wilmot  estate;  and  first  they  tried  persuasion,  then 
threats;  and  were  proceeding  to  blows,  when  the  McAlpines 
ran  for  refuge  into  the  village,  and  the  Archer  gentlemen  know* 
ing  that  its  male  inhabitants  were  absent  at  the  election,  fear- 
lessly pursued  them  to  their  retreat,  and  had  already  managed 
to  secure  a  dozen  of  the  less  fleet-footed  of  the  poor  fellows, 
when,  to  their  surprise,  yells  and  execrations  rose  on  all  sides, 
and  presently  there  issued  from  each  house,  a  shrieking,  cursing 
fury,  with  her  dark  hair  hanging  about  her  shoulders,  and  her 
apron  full  of  stones. 

*'  Bad  luck  to  ye,  souls  an'  bodies!  how  dare  ye  come  next 
or  nigh  us!  d'ye  think  becase  our  min  is'nt  in  it,  that  ye'U  not 
find  them  that  are  able  for  ye  1  be  off  this  minute,  or  by  the 
powers,  we'll  make  ye!  be  off!  and  don't  dare  lay  your  hand  on 
them  dacent,  quiet  boys,  or  we  won't  lave  a  skreed  o'  ye  to- 
gether!" so  screamed  these  fair  defenders  of  the  Castle  Wil- 
mot territory,  and  of  its  right  to  procure  those  who  claimed 
sanctuary  in  it. 

The  gentlemen,  in  defiance  of  these  threats,  continued  to  ad- 
vance, and  the  amazons  immediately  saluted  them  with  a  vol- 
ley of  stones,  and  one  of  the  party  was  knocked  off  his  horse. 
The  women  huzzaed,  and  the  gentlemen  swore. 

"  Read  the  Riot  Act!"  commanded  one  of  the  Archers,  who 
was  a  magistrate. 

"  To  the  divil  with  yourselves,  and  your  Riot  Act!  ye  mane- 
spirited  palthroons!  ye  orange  villains!"  cried  the  ladies,  and 
they  continued  to  scream,  curse,  and  fling  stones. 

"  Fire,  sir,  on  that  mob  of  rioters!"  said  the  magistrate  above 
mentioned, .to  the  officer  commanding  the  detachment. 

"  Not  where  the  only  rioters  are  women,  sir,"  replied  the 
young  military  man. 

"  Fire  on  the  men  then!" — said  the  magistrate. 

"  The  men  are  perfecfly  quiet,  standing  with  their  arms  folded, 


CANVASSING.  193 

looking  on;  I  could  not  possibly  fire  under  such  circumstances. 
My  duty  only  is  to  protect  youl" 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  protect  us?"  demanded  the  Archer 
gentlemen. 

"  I  should,  if  the  assailants  were  Jmen,"  replied  the  young 
officer.     "  But  what  can  I  do  with  a  mob  of  women!" 

"  Hurrah  for  the  red-coats!"  shouted  the  fair  rioters,  who 
had  stood  quiet  and  silent,  while  doubtful  as  to  the  result  of  the 
colloquy  between  the  civil  and  military  authorities;  "  long  life 
to  'em!  'tis  them  that  knows  how  to  trate  the  women!  not  like 
them  cadgers  from  the  town  beyant; — them  mudhering  villains 
of  process  sarvers,  that's  thinkin'  to  get  inside  of  the  mas- 
ther's  son-in-law,  the  schamers  of  the  world! — " 

"  It's  a  long  march  ye  tuk,  sir,"  said  the  speaker-woman  and 
ringleader  of  the  party,  turning  to  the  officer.  "  May  be  you 
would  like  a  dhrop  of  whiskey  and  a  fresh  egg^  or  some  throut 
out  of  the  river,  or  a  roasted  prateel — if  we  had  betther,  we'd 
give  it,  but  whatever  it  is,  you  have  the  '  cead  mille  fallha !' 
with  it,  any  how;  and  something  for  your  men  too,  the  era- 
turs." 

The  officer  thankfully  assented  to  the  proposal,  and  there  was 
a  temporary  cessation  of  hostilities. 

"  Make  'em  give  us  back  our  min,  sir,"  said  the  amazon 
coaxingly; — "  do,  and  the  Lord  prosper  ye!  we  won't  pelt  'em 
any  more,  an'  we'll  give  'em  something  to  ate  into  the  bargin, 
for  they're  starving  wid  the  hunger,  God  help  'em!  will  ye, 
agra,  give  us  back  them  poor  craturs?" 

The  good-humoured  young  man  laughed,  and  promised  his 
mediation;  but  the  gentlemen  scornfully  rejected  the  terms,  and 
had  therefore  to  return  faint  from  want  of  food,  and  harassed  by 
the  women  who  hung  on  their  rear,  pelting  and  cursing  to  the 
very  outskirts  of  The  town,  which  they  regained  half  nearly 
dead,  from  fatigue,  hunger,  and  bruises.  Here  they  conducted 
the  freeholders  to  an  eating-house,  where  they  were  ordered 
"  lashings  of  mate  and  whiskey,"  in  exchange  for  their  liberty. 

"This  is  eligantfine  ating,  to  be  sure, Thady,"  observed  one 
of  them, — "but  how  will  it  be  with  us  whin  we  go  backl  The 
Castle  Wilmots  will  murdher  us!" 

"  Faith,  they  will  so,"  said  Jim  Naughten,  who  happened 
just  then  to  walk  in,  ostensibly  to  make  love  to  a  daughter  of 
the  woman  of  the  house,  who  was  a  cousin  of  his  own,  but 
truth  obliges  us  to  state  our  belief  that  his  visit  was  rather  di- 
plomatic than  gallant;  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  more  his  cousin's 
affair  than  ours. 


194  CANVASSING. 

"  Faith,"  you  may  be  sure,"  continued  this  Job's  comforter, 
"  of  as  fine  a  bating  as  ever  ye  got  in  your  lives; — I  wish  I  was 
as  sure  of  a  fine  estate.  Ye  must  have  great  courage,  boys,  to 
think  of  standin'  the  counthry  at  all,  after  doing  what  ye're 
goin'  to  do.  Not  a  fair,  nor  patthern,  ye  won't  get  murdhered 
at, — an'  if  you  want  a  hundherd  of  malt,  or  a  stone  of  salt,  or  if 
your  wife  has  a  lock  of  wool,  or  a  thrifle  of  flax  to  sell,  troth  ye 
must  do  without  it,  or  be  comin'  jdown  every  hand's  turn  by 
wather,  for  fear  of  the  Castle  Wilmot  boys." 

"  We  know  that,  as  well  as  ye  can  tell  us,  Jim,"  groaned  his 
auditors.  "  But  if  we  wote  agin  the  masther's  ordhers,  sor- 
row a  thing  we'll  have  to  buy  or  sell  at  all;  didn't  we  run  out 
of  the  town  to  get  quit  of  'em  all,  an'  didn't  the  Archers  bring 
the  army  a  top  of  us,  weren't  we  made  prisoners." 
"  Why  did  ye  let  'emT" 

"  Why  did  ye  let  'em,  is  it]  asy  said,  Jim,  but  troth,  if  ye 
were  in  it  yoursel'  you  w'd  fine  it  far  harder  to  help,  than  you 
think  for;  I  dont  care  a  ha'porth  about  a  stroke  of  a  stick,  becase 
I'm  used  to  it  ever  since  I  was  small,  but  the  baynet,  Jim,  is  a 
quare  thing,  I  wouldn't  like  a  prod  of  it  at-all-at-all." 

"  Pooh,  whatharum  would  it  do  youl"  asked  Jim,  "  see  how 
the  Castle  Wilmot  women  were  not  afear'd  of  it." 

"  Why  would  theyl  whatever  they  done,  they  knew  well; 
the  sogers  wouldn't  touch  em." 

"  Well,  no  matther  for  that  now,"  Jim  interrupted;  "  what 
do  ye  intend  to  do,  boys?" 

"  What  do  we  intend  doin'  is  ill  we  intend  doin'  whatever 
we  can't  help  doin'  JimI" 

"  Lads,  will  ye  wote  for  ArcherT" 

"  What  else  can  we  do,  when  the  masthev  bids  us,  you  know"? 

troth  if  we  don't,  he'll  sell  our  skins,  let  alone  our  bastes!" 

"  He  won't  be  long  over  ye,  any  how,"  relied  Jim. 

"How's  that]"  demanded  his  auditors,  eagerly. 

"  Don't  ye  know  that  Letterbrough  is  a  lase  of  the  Castle 

Wilmot  lands,  that  Mr.  McAlpine's  father  held  for  three  lives; 

two  of  'em  are  up,  an'  the  last  one  is  an  ould  woman  that's 

dying  every  year  of  the  rheumatics;  so  ye  never  can  tell  the 

minute  ye'll  come  back  to  your  raal  masther;  he's  the  one  you 

ought  to  mind; — the  one  that  owns  the  land,  isn't  it  boys] — the 

man  that,  whether  tinant  or  no,  if  ye  were  brought  up  before  the 

grand  jury,  for  being  too  fond  of  mutton,  or  too  ready  with  the 

stick,  would  stand  your  friend,  whin  your  own  masther,  as  ye 

call  him,  w'd  be  sittin'  fair  an'  asy  by  his  parlour  fire,  writin' 

love  lelthers,  or  readin'  out  of  a  book;  and  a  negur  he  is  into 


CANVASSING.  195 

the  bargain,  that  begrudges  a  dacent  boy  that  w'd  be  goin'  the 
road,  his  bit  an'  sup,  an'  a  mouthful  of  hay  for  his  bastes!" 

"  A  thin  would  he,  Tiral"  interrogated  the  much-shocked 
Letterbroughs. 

"  A  thin  would  he?"  repeated  Jim,  deridingly;" — Don't  ye 
know  he  would] — didn't  he  do  it  bymysel',  an'  bad  manners  to 
him]  but  no  matter  about  that  now;  I  wasn't  thrustin'  to  him, 
thank  God,  for  mate  or  dhrink;  I  had  my  own  masther  to  go  to, 
the  Lord  be  praised;  the  man  that  has  a  sate  by  his  fire,  for 
who's  would  come  in,  and  lashings  of  the  best  of  ating  an' 
dhrinking,  an'  a  ccad  mille  faltha^  an'  a  tap  on  the  shouldher 
into  the  bargain  ;  an'  all  this  you  have  good  rason  to  know, 
boys,  for  many's  the  time  we  sat  together  in  his  chimbly  cor- 
ner, an'  himsel'  in  the  kitchen  talkin'  to  us  as  free  as  if  we  were 
gintlemin." 

"  We  know  that  too,  Jim,"  interrupted  the  freeholders;  sure 
there  is'nt  his  aqual  in  the  country  round,  for  the  kind  heart  an' 
the  open  hand;  an'  if  t'was  himsel'  that  was  standin' Jim,  d'ye 
think  we'd  refuse  him  our  sowls,  let  alone  our  wotes]  no,  troth, 
^e'd  pitch  McAlpine  to  the  devil  for  him,  an'  why  not,  but'" — 

"That's  right,  boys, "said  Jim,  not  allowing  the  speaker  to 
finish  his  sentence, — "  I'm  sure  you  would,  but  you  know  his 
son-in-law  is  himsel'  in  a  manner;  behave  the  way  ye  ought 
now,  an'  I  promise  you,  that  you  won't  lose  by  it; — supposin' 
itseP  that  McAlpine  banishes  you  off  the  lands,  has'nt  the 
masther  room  an'  to  spare  for  ye,  an'  half  the  country  besides?" 

"But  what  will  we  do?  the  Archers  have  a  hould  of  us  now, 
Jim,"  replied  Jim's  auditors,  hesitatingly. 

"  Well,  stay  with  them,  sure,"  but,  he  added  laughing, 
"  vote  for  us." 

"  Oh  yea!  how  will  that  be  at  all?"  queried  the  astonished 
McAlpines. 

"  I'll  make  ye  sinsible  of  it  to-morrow  boys," — replied  the 
orator; — I'll  be  with  ye  airly  by  the  first  light,  and  now  God  be 
wid  ye!" — and  so  saying  Jim  walked  off,  shouting  his  favourite 
tune  of  "tattered  Jack  Welsh,"  his  only  regret  being,  that 
Winny  was  not  present  to  be  "  grigged"  by  it. 


14* 


CHAPTER  XII. 


The  following  morning  the  Letterbrough  freeholders  were 
conve)'ed  through  the  town  in  carriages,  escorted  by  gentlemen 
mounted  and  armed,  the  mob  roaring  "  Warringdon  for  ever! 
high  for  the  English  lord!  Warringdon  and  emancipation!  Down 
with  the  Archers!  the  Orangemen!  down  with  McAlpine,  the 
thraitor!  down  with  'em  all!  to  the  divel  with  the  whole  of 
em"?"  accompanying  this  kind  consignment  of  Mr.  Archer  and 
his  friends,  by  throwing  hands-full  of  mud,  dead  cats,  and,  occa- 
sionally, a  stone  or  two,  at  the  carriage;  venturing,  however, 
rather  cautiously  on  the  last  mark  of  disapprobation,  being  de- 
terred by  the  pistols  which  peeped  from  the  bosoms  of  the 
Archers.  '  ' 

At  length  the  cavalcade  reached  their  destination,  and  the 

freeholders  were  ushered- into  the  booth.     They  were 

received  with  loud  plaudits  by  the  Archer  party,  and  cries  of 
"Fine  fellows!  true  to  their  landlord!"  and  by  groans  and 
hisses,  curses  and  ferocious  scowls,  and  muttered  threats,  by 
the  Warringdons. 

"  Don't  suffer  yourselves  to  be  intimidated,  my  honest  men," 
said  Mr.  Archer's  agent.  "  The  Warringdon  party  may 
threaten,  but  they  dare  not  injure  you.  Mr.  Wilmot  is  a 
mighty  great  man,  no  doubt,"  he  continued  sneeringly,  "  and 
his  tenants  are  fine  bludgeoneers,  but  never  you  mind;  the 
king  happens  to  be  a  greater  man  than  Mr.  Wilmot ;  and  as 
for  his  tenants,  the  first  among  them  that  lifts  a  stick  against 
ye  shall  be  lodged  iu  the  county  jail." 

"  Aye,  aye !"  shouted  the  Castle  Wilmots,  in  derision, 
"  when  you've  caught  us  !  once  we  are  on  our  own  mountains, 
d'ye  think  we'll  be  aisily  had?  Oh  ye !  what  a  chance  you 
have  of  us  !  an'  so  ye  think  we'll  wait  for  your  lave  to  rise  our 
sticks  ; — ye're  comical  fellows,  troth  !" 

"  Silence,  silence  !"  the  deputy  assessor  called  out.  "  Come, 
my  lads,  your  votes,  whatever  they  are ;  give  them  at  once, 
and  don't  be  afraid. 

"  We  won't  sir,"  replied  a  little  crabbed,  half-starved  look- 
ing man,  advancing  from  the  group. 


CANVASSING.  197 

"  What  is  your  name  T'  asked  the  deputy  assessor. 

"  Thady  Sullivan." 

"  Are  you  twenty-one  years  of  age  V 

"  Twenty-one  years  of  age,  is  it  ir  repeated  Thady.  "  Faith, 
I  wish  I  was  thrustin'  to  that  same  !  I  am  so,  and  a  good 
many  years  to  the  back  of  it,  more's  the  pity." 

"  Are  you  a  freeholder  of  the  county  V 

"  Sure  if  I  was'nt,  1  wouldn't  be  here  !"  answered  Thady. 

"  Have  you  the  clear  yearly  sum  of  forty  shillings,  over  and 
above  your  rentl" 

"  Is  it  that  jail-bird  V  interrupted  the  Warringdon  agent. 
"  Put  him  the  freeholder's  oath  !" 

The  freeholder's  oath  was  administered,  and  after  that, 
as  demanded  by  the  Warringdon  party,  the  bribery  oath  also; 
and  now,  having  no  more  plausible  objections  to  make,  they 
suffered  the  man  to  proceed. 

"  Whom  do  you  vote  for  V  asked  the  deputy-assessor. 

"I  vote  for  Lord  Wardherdown,"  said  Thady. 

"  Warringdon  V  repeated  the  deputy-assessor,  surprised. 

"  Warringdon  !"  echoed  the  Archer  party  with  rage  and  aston- 
ishment. "  Infamous  cheating  ! — shameful !  shameful  to  put 
between  landlord  and  tenant !  setting  the  county  in  a  blaze ! 
rebels !  traitors !" 

"Hurrah!  hurrah!"  the  Warringdons  shouted.  "Thady 
Sullivan  for  ever! — chair  him  !  chair  him  !" 

And  accordingly  they  carried  Thady  on  their  shoulders 
round  the  room. 

His  example  was  followed  by  his  companions  ;  and  as  they 
were  walking  off,  accompanied  by  the  laughter  and  acclama- 
tions of  one  party,  and  execration  of  the  other,  Thady  turned  to- 
wards the  Archers,  and  making  a  low  bow,  "  Thank  ye,  gen- 
tlemen, for  the  mate  an'  the  dhrink,  an'  the  fine  jaunt  in  your 
grand  carriages,  and  for  all  the  honour  ye  ped  us — ye  see,  we 
tak  your  advice,  and  wern't  afeard  to  spake  out." 

"Let  me  pass;  let  me  pass,  boys;"  said  O'Reilly,  impa- 
tiently pushing  through  the  shouting  crowd.  "  Where's  Mr. 
Malonyr' 

"  Here!"  cried  the  object  inquired  for,  advancing,  and  still 
laughing  at  the  trick  just  played  by  Thady  and  his  compeers. 
"  But  what  is  the  matter,  O'Reilly!  you  look  bothered — is  any 
thing  going  wrong]" 

"Yes;  Lord  Templemore  is  polling  for  Archer  in  the  barony 
of—" 

Malony's  broad,  good-humoured  face  darkened. 


198  CANVASSING. 

"That's  one  way  of  standing  neuter,  and  be  d — d  to  him! 
Hollo!  one  of  ye  there,  Castle  Wilmots!  give  me  my  hat!"  he 
vociferated.  "I'll  just  step  to  the  committee-room,  and  see 
what's  best  to  be  done." 

All  agreed  that  the  thing  best  to  be  done,  was  that  a  deputa- 
tion of  their  party,  headed  by  Mr.  Malony,  should  wait  without 
loss  of  time  on  the  noble  lord  at  his  residence,  a  few  minutes' 
walk  from  the  VVarringdon  committee-room. 

As  these  broad-shouldered,  formidable  supporters  of  Lord 
Warringdon  defiled  one  after  another,  Mr.  Malony  bringing  up 
the  rear,  into  Lord  Templemore's  library,  he  w^as  observed  to 
change  colour.  He  received  them  very  courteously,  however, 
and  expressed  much  regret  at  seeing  Mr.  Malony's  arm  in  a 
sling. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  your  Lordship,"  replied  Mr.  Ma- 
lony; "  luckily  'tis  only  my  left  arm;  I  have  my  right  one 
still,  for  a  case  of  need,  whenever  it  comes:" — and  Mr.  Malony 
squared  his  shoulders — and  Lord  Templemore  hemmed. 

"  My  Lord,"  continued  Mr.  Malony,  who  had  been  selected 
as  the  spokesman  of  the  party,  "  we  have  come  here  this  morn- 
ing on  very  particular  business;  to  remind  you,  in  fact,  on  the 
part  of  Lord  Warringdon,  of  a  circumstance  you  seem  to  have 
forgotten — namely — your  promise  of  standing  neuter  between 
him  and  Mr.  Archer — giving  plumpers  to  Mr.  Fitzgerald. 
Have  you  kept  that  promise,  my  Lord?" 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  breaking  my  promises,  Mr.  Ma- 
lony," replied  Lord  Templemore,  with  much  dignity. 

"  I  don't  know  what  your  habits  may  be,  my  Lord;  but  there 
must  be  a  beginning  to  every  habit,  you  know,  and  that  begin- 
ning, it  appears  to  me,  you  are  making  on  the  present  occa- 
sion." 

"How  do  you  prove  that,  Mr.  MalonyT"  the  Earl  asked. 

"  Why,  my  Lord,  you  are  this  very  minute  giving  your 
second  voices  to  Archer,  in  the  barony  of " 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,  I  have  not  given  my  vote  at  all." 

"You  mean  your  personal  vote,  my  Lord!"  asked  Mr.  Ma- 
lony. 

His  Lordship  bowed  assent. 
^"  Oh,  my  Lord,  that  would  be  a  very  good  answer  in  a  court 
of  law;  but  it  won't  do  in  a  court  of  honour,"  said  Mr.  Malony, 
smiling  somewhat  contemptuously.  "  Your  tenants  are  not 
standing  neuter,  and  therefore  your  personal  neutrality  goes  for 
nothing." 

"  I  am  not  responsible  for  my  tenants,  Sir"  replied  Lord 
Templemore. 


CANVASSING.  199 

"  I  am  afraid  your  Lordship  will  find  some  difficulty  in  per- 
suading Lord  Warringdon  and  his  friends  that  you  are  not," 
answered  Mr.  Malony,  accompanying  the  observation  by  a 
look  to  which  the  Earl  hastened  to  reply. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  allow  me  to  explain  to  you  my  position  with 
respect  to  my  tenantry  in  the  barony  you  allude  to.  They  all 
hold  under  leases;  pay  their  rent  to  a  day;  are  never  in  arrears; 
in  a  word,  are  comfortable,  and  therefore  independent.  Well, 
my  property  in  that  neighbourhood  borders  that  of  Mr.  Archer, 
and  my  people  say  that  they  will  not  incur  the  enmity  of  the 
tenantry  of  an  estate  close  to  them,  for  a  stranger  like  Lord 
Warringdon,  to  whom  they  have  no  local  attachment.  In  fact, 
my  dear  Sir,  they  have  broke  loose,  the  rascals  !  but  they  know 
they  are  not  in  my  power,  and  I  cannot  control  them,  or — " 

"  That  may  be  all  very  true,  my  Lord,"  interrupted  Mr,  Ma- 
lony, "  but  all  your  tenantry  are  not  next  neighbours  of  Mr. 
Archer's.  Give  us  an  equivalent  to  those  that  have  polled  for 
him.  in  some  other  barony." 

*'  Most  willingly,"  his  Lordship  assented  eagerly;  "  or  I  will 
consent  even  to  double  the  number;  will  that  satisfy  you,  as  to 
my  impartiality?" 

"  Would  your  Lordship  have  any  objection  to  state  this  ar- 
rangement in  writing]"  asked  a  cautious  member  of  the  depu- 
tation. 

"  My  word,  Sir," — and  the  Earl  was  proceeding  in  a  digni- 
fied strain,  when  interrupted  by  Mr.  Malony. 

"  Certainly — there's  no  necessity  for  any  stronger  guarantee, 
my  Lord." 

Lord  Templemore  acknowledged  the  compliment  by  a  bow 
and  smile. 

"  For,"  continued  Mr.  Malony,  with  a  meaning  look,  "  /  hold 
the  promise." 

He  shook  hands  with  the  Earl,  and  departed  with  his  train. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 


A  FEW  mornings  after  the  conversation  just  detailed,  Mr. 
Malony,  Mr.  O'Reilly,  Mr.  O'Leary,  and  half  a  dozen  other 
friends  and  partizans,  rushed  into  Lady  Anne's  drawing  room, 
shouting  out,  "  Good  news — good  news!  the  contest  we  may 


200  CANVASSINd. 

Bay  is  over:  the  barony  of ,  where  Archer's  chief  force  lies, 

will  close  in  an  hour;  his  men  have  been  beaten  back  by  the 
mob.  so  there  have  been  but  ten  polled  there  as  yet  to-day, 
therefore  by  four  o'clock  it  must  all  be  over.  We  are  watching 
them  well,  for  fear  they  should  personate  from  other  baro- 
nies, and  have  left  some  fellows  in  the  booth  to  kick  up  rows, 
and  retard  the  polling.  An  express  has  just  been  sent  oflf  to 
Mr.  Wilmot,  to  prevent  his  sending  down  any  more  men." 

And  now  what  shaking  of  hands,  and  wishing  joy,  followed 
this  announcement,  between  the  young  Viscount,  who  had  been 
since  breakfast  by  the  side  of  the  gentle  Isabel;  (a  delightful 
refuge  from  his  noisy  committee-room  and  his  constituents.) 
How  blandly  his  mother-in-law  elect  thanked!  how  sweetly  his 
fair  mistress  smiled!  how  proud  and  gratified  she  looked!  In 
a  word,  how  delighted  every  body  was  with  themselves  and 
with  one  another.  What  shouts  of  triumph  and  self-gratu- 
lation  rang  through  the  house!  How  they  did  talk  and  laugh! 
what  joy!  what  noise!  what  vociferation!  what  gesticulation! 
Oh,  the  mirth  and  good  humour  of  successful  Irish  Election- 
eerers!    Is  there  any  mirth  or  good  humour  like  it?" 

An  hour  had  thus  passed  unheeded,  when  Mr.  Malony  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  "There  comes  Father  John!  1  left  him  in 
the  booth,  to  bring  me  word  the  moment  it  should  close.  Hur- 
rah!" 

And  he  rushed  to  the  hall-door,  in  his  impatience  to  have  all 
the  particulars. 

"  When  did  it  close?"  he  bawled.  Father  John  not  having 
yet  come  within  speaking  distance. 

"  'Tisn't  closed  at  all,"  repeated  the  other. 

"  What  then,  man?" 

"  Opened!"  said  the  priest. 

"  Opened!"  repeated  his  interrogator,  with  a  look  of  conster- 
nation.    "  What  do  you  mean,  Father  John?" 

"  Why  then,  indeed,  Mr.  Malony,  I  mane  just  what  I  say. 
You  know  the  men  Lord  Templemore  promised  us,  to  make  up  for 
those  he  gave  Archer:  well,  'tis  by  them  the  booth  has  been 
kept  open,  and  they  have  a  batch  of  two  hundred  for  to-morrow, 
who  stole  in  to-day,  while  nobody  was  watching,  thinking  the 
election  over." 

And  now  who  can  describe  the  rage  and  disappointment  of 
Malony,  and  the  Warringdon  party,  lately  so  triumphant,  at 
this  blight  of  their  hopes. 

"  The  rascal!"  cried  Malony,  stamping.  "  Lord  Warring- 
don, you  must  send  him  a  challenge  immediately." 

^'  Oh,  yes,  yes!   of  course — cannot  possibly  be  avoidedl" 


CANVASSING.  201 

simultaneously  chimed  in  all  the  men  present,  forgetting  in  their 
eagerness  the  presence  of  the  ladies. 

Mr.  Malony  found  his  arm  suddenly  grasped. 

"  Do  you  want  to  kill  him,  Mr.  Malony]  do  you — do  you]" 
Isabel  asked,  trembling  with  agitation. 

"  I  do  not,"  he  quietly  replied;  "  but  I  want  to  return  him." 

"  I  had  rather  he  never  was  returned,"  she  said,  wringing 
her  hands,  "  than  that  he  should  run  that  risk." 

"  My  God,  Miss  Wilmot,  I  wonder  at  you!  a  sensible  girl, 
like  you,  to  talk  in  this  way; — sure  he  isn't  made  of  glass!  he 
must  stand  his  chance  the  same  as  others;  but  just  take  my  ad- 
vice, and  go  away  quietly  with  your  mother,  and  leave  us  to 
settle  the  business  properly; — this  is  no  place  for  you;  come 
now,  go  away,  like  a  good  girl!" 

"  No!"  she  replied,  "  I'll  not  stir — I  will  not  leave  him  to  be 
murdered  by  you." 

"Murdered  by  me!"  Malony  repeated  highly  affronted. 
"  That  is  not  exactly  the  way  you  should  speak  to  one  of  your 
father's  warmest  friends,  and  for  his  sake,  perhaps  the  most 
zealous  supporter  Lord  Warringdon  has.     Murdered,  indeed!" 

"  Oh,  I  am  too  miserable  to  know  what  I  am  saying:"  and 
Isabel  sank  on  the  first  seat  near  her,  looking  indeed  most 
"miserable." 

Now  Mr.  Malony  could  contemplate  man's  blood  with  much 
more  philosophy  than  he  could  woman's  tears,  and  his  heart 
softened  directly. 

"  I  proposed  his  fighting  entirely  to  serve  him,  God  knows! 
For  that  matter,  as  Lord  Templemore  made  the  promise  to  me, 
personally,  I  have  the  best  right  to  call  upon  him  to  keep  it;  so 
now,  shake  hands,  and  don't  say  I  want  to  murder  him,  at  any 
rate,"  he  added,  smiling  good  humouredly. 

"  But  why  should  it  be  you  either;  why  should  any  of  you 
fight;  the  damage  is  done,  and  you  can't  repair  it  now,"  said 
Isabel,  "  leave  it  all  as  it  is.  This  duelling  is  such  a  frightful 
and  savage  custom!" 

*'  You!  your  father's  daughter,  and  be  frightened  by  pistols? 
you  are  growing  to  be  a  disgrace  to  the  county;  and  I  am  not  at 
all  sorry  you  are  about  to  transplant  yourself  among  the  quiet 
English,"  replied  Malony,  laughing. 

He  and  the  other  gentlemen  soon  after  withdrew,  leaving  the 
Viscount  and  his  gentle  mistress  together,  who,  by  the  way, 
never  appeared  to  him  half  so  gentle  or  interesting  as  at  that 
moment.  Was  it  because  she  leaned  her  head  so  aflfectionate- 
ly  on  his  shoulder,  and  murmured  forth  his  name  with  such 


202  CANVASSING. 

whispering  tenderness?  or  was  it  merely  because  he  approved 
and  admired  her  womanly  abhorrence  of  duelling? 

And  now  let  us  follow  the  movements  of  Mr.  IMalony  and  his 
belligerent  companions.  A  second  visit  to  Lord  Templemore 
was  immediately  decided  upon,  and  a  certain  Mr.  McCarthy 
was  deputed  to  remonstrate  in  Mr.  Malony's  name,  on  his  breach 
of  promise. 

The  noble  Earl  alleged  he  had  kept  his  word. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,  but  in  such  a  manner  that  you  have  done  us 
harm  instead  of  good;  for  were  it  not  for  you,  the  contest  would 
now  be  over,"  replied  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"  Not  being  aware  of  the  politics  of  your  committee-room,  I 
could  not  possibly  imagine  that  giving  you  forty  votes  would  be 
an  injury  to  your  cause,"  replied  the  Earl. 

Mr.  McCarthy  smiled  incredulously.  "  Every  body,  my 
Lord,  knew  that  our  object  was  to  close  that  booth.  Will  you 
give  it  under  your  hand,  that  you  alone  of  the  whole  town  waa 
ignorant  of  if?  and  that  you  had  no  conversation  on  the  subject 
with  Mr.  Archer?" 

"  My  verbal  assertion  is  sufficient,  I  should  think,  sir." 

"  Not  in  Mr.  Malony's  opinion,  this  time,  my  Lord,"  Mc 
Carthy  retorted. 

"  I  certainly  will  not  give  any  other  voucher,  sir,"  the  Earl 
answered,  reddening  with  displeasure. 

"  Then,  in  that  case,  my  Lord,  I  am  directed  by  Mr.  Malony 
to  demand  satisfaction  for  what  he  considers  an  intentional  in- 
jury on  your  Lordship's  part,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"  I  have  done  what  I  promised,"  insisted  Lord  Templemore, 
"  and  I  will  not  suffer  myself  to  be  provoked  into  a  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Malony,  because  he  happens  to  be  in  an  ill-humour.  My 
life  is  far  too  valuable  to  my  family  to  risk  it  in  an  idle  brawl, 
with  a  hot-headed  young  man  like  Mr.  Malony." 

"  That  is  your  answer,  my  Lord?" 

"  That  is  my  answer,  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"  I  am  afraid,  then,  that  such  an  answer  will  not  satisfy  Mr. 
Malony,  and  that  he  may  consider  himself  obliged  to  give  your 
Lordship  a  rather  unpleasant  proof  of  his  opinion  of  your  con- 
duct," said  Mr.  McCarthy,  rising  and  moving  towards  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Malony  had  better  take  care  how  he  subjects  himself 
to  a  law  process,"  Lord  Templemore  observed,  as  he  rang  the 
bell. 

His  Lordship  immediately  discovered  he  had  very  particular 
business  at  Mount  Pleasant,  and  was  stepping  into  his  carriage, 
about  an  hour  after  the  above  conversation,  when  he  felt  a  whip 


eANVASSING.  203 

gently  applied  to  his  shoulders;  and  looking  round,  beheld  his 
broken-promise  holder,  Mr.  Malony. 

"I  don't  repeat  the  blow,  my  Lord,  because  you  are  a  man 
double  my  age,  and  1  don't  want  to  do  you  bodily  harm;  but 
only  to  degrade  you,  as  that  man  deserves  who  does  an  injury 
underhand,  and  refuses  giving  the  only  satisfaction  in  his  power. 
Now,  take  notice,  all  of  ye,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  crowd 
of  idlers  assembled  round  the  carriage,  and  loitering  about  the 
street,  "  that  I  have  laid  a  whip  across  Lord  Templemore's 
shoulders,"  and  so  saying  he  walked  away,  whistling,  and  tap- 
ping his  boot  with  the  said  whip. 

Soon  after,  nothing  was  talked  of,  all  over  the  town,  but  the 
approaching  hostile  meeting  between  the  flogger  and  floggee. 
Happily,  however,  the  constituted  authorities  interfered,  and 
the  parties  were  bound  over,  in  recognizances  of  a  thousand 
pounds  each,  to  keep  the  peace:  and  so,  much  to  the  mortifica- 
tion of  all  "  whom  it  did  not  concern,"  there  the  matter  ended. 

We  wish  that  Lord  Templemore's  treachery  had  produced  no 
worse  consequences  than  that  of  personal  degradation  to  him- 
self; but  unluckily,  through  his  prevaricating  conduct,  he  had 
not  only  been  the  means  of  keeping  open  a  booth  which  the 
Warrincrdon  party  wanted  to  close,  but  there  was  now  a  strong 
probability  that,  owing  to  him,  a  booth  would  close,  which 
they  wanted  to  keep  open. 

In  ex))ectation  of  the  election  being  immpdiately  terminated 
by  the  event  first  alluded  to,  the  Warringdons  had  neglected 
having  the  necessary  supply  of  men,  to  keep  up  the  ball,  in  the 

great  barony  of ;  the  strong-hold  in  fact  of  the  Castle  Wil- 

mot  interest;  that  closed,  all  was  over;  they  would  lose  two 
thousand  voters. 

And  now  it  became  the  Archers'  turn  to  laugh,  and  jeer,  and 
triumph,  and  the  Warringdons'  to  look  crest-fallen. 

"Never  mind,  all  is  not  lost  yet,"  said  Malony,  as  he  and 
several  of  his  party  sat  round  Lady  Anne's  dinner  table.  "  Give 
me  the  swiftest  horse  you  have,  and  I  start  this  night  for  Cas- 
tle Wilmot.  I  shall  be  there  by  dawn  of  day  to-morrow,  and 
you  will  see  me  return  with  enough  of  your  men  and  my  own, 
to  take  the  town,  if  we  wanted  it." 

Mr.  Malony  kept  his  word,  and  by o'clock  the  next  day 

returned,  followed  by  hundreds  of  triumphant  partizans,  with 
pipers  playing  before  them,  and  laurel  branches  in  their  hats; 
shouting '' High  for  Derry  Manogaslogh!  who'll  dare  say  the 
contraryl"  In  consequence,  the  booth  was  kept  from  being 
closed  on  that  day,  and  by  the  next,  they  had  so  over-pow^ 

15 


204 


CANVASSING. 


ering  a  majority,  that  Mr.  Archer  withdrew  opposition,  and 
Viscount  Warringdon  and  Mr.  Fitzgerald  were  declared  by  the 
High  Sheriff  "duly  elected,  as  Knights  of  the  Shire,"  for  the 
county  of ." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


And  now,  are  not  our  readers  as  wearied  of  the  noise  and  confu- 
sion of  an  Irish  election,  as  our  Viscount  himself?  We  think  it 
more  than  probable  that  they  are;  and  therefore  we  will  spare 
them  the  added  noise  and  confusion  of  the  chairing;  and  yet  we 
confess  we  do  so  reluctantly.  There  is  something  to  our  mind, 
so  gloriously  characteristic  of  the  Irish  people,  in  their  true, 
deep-felt,  deep-toned,  joyous' affectionate,  energetic  huzza  for 
a  popular  candidate;  and  then  the  windows  crowded  with  la- 
dieS;  many  of  them  young  and  pretty;  and  all  good-humoured 
(that  day  at  least),  waving  their  handkerchiefs;  and  the  candi- 
date looking  up  at  them,  as  he  sits  enthroned  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  people,  and  bowing  so  graciously,  and  his  friends  on  either 
side  of  him,  holding  banners;  and  all  above  and  beneath,  and 
around  him,  shouting  his  name; — is  there  a  situation  in  human 
life  more  pardonably  intoxicating  to  human  vanity  than  this? 
at  least  to  a  country  gentleman  in  Ireland,  where  the  desire  for 
popularity,  and  the  sensibility  to  it,  are  so  strong. 

The  day  was  closed  by  a  grand  dinner  given  by  his  friends 
and  constituents,  in  honour  of  the  new  member;  at  which  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  drinking  and  speechifying;  and  the  follow- 
ing evening  the  Viscount  returned  the  compliment  by  a  ball, 
and  supper,  for  the  special  purpose  of  thanking  the  ladies  of 
his  party:  and  such  a  gay  ball! — there  were  all  the  officers 
of  the  garrison  at  it,  and  two  very  dashing  Captains  of  Dra- 
goons;— a  God-send  by  the  way  for  which  the  ladies  were  in- 
debted to  Mr.  Archer,  that  gentleman  having  applied  for  two 
troops  of  horse   to   ride   down    the   riotous    Castle   Wilmots; 

(and  Captains  of  Dragoons  being  rarities,  the  town  of  C 

not  having  the  advantage  of  being  a  cavalry  station);  they 
naturally  attracted  the  brightest  eyes  in  the  room.  Then  there 
was  Mr.  Malony,  and  Mr.  McCarthy,  and  a  number  of  other 
young,  laughing,  dancing  men  of  good  property;  and  then  the 


CANVASSING.  205 

young  member  himself,  all  gallantry  and  politeness;  and  then 
the  charming  Lady  Anne,  soft  and  ingratiating  as  usual;  and 
then  Isabel,  who  seemed  that  night  to  tread  or  air,  her  step  so 
bounding,  and  her  countenance  so  radiant  with  happiness;  the 
happiness  of  loving,  and  being  beloved;  and  perhaps  with  a 
little  vanity  too;  her  lover  was  an  adnjired  and  popular  man, 
the  object  for  the  time  of  engrossing  and  flattering  attention, — 
and  a  few  days  more,  and  she  would  be  his  bride! — a  Viscoun- 
tess too! — happy,  happy  Isabel. 

"  I  never  saw  her  looking  so  well!"  observed  the  lover  to 
the  mamma,  with  a  warmth  and  earnestness  of  admiration,  al- 
most Irish. 

"Humph!  the  same  as  usual,  I  think, — I  can't  say  that  I 
see  much  difference,"  replied  the  mother,  carelessly. 

Somebody  who  overheard  this  answer,  thought  it  extraordi- 
nary. It  is  clear  the  person,  whoever  he  or  she  was,  did  net 
thoroughly  comprehend  our  friend  Lady  Anne. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Wilmot  'to-night?  I  hope  she  is  not  ill," 
said  several  people  in  the  course  of  that  evening,  to  the  young 
Lady's  mamma. 

"No,  thank  God!  not  at  all,  but  she  preferred  remaining 
with  an  invalid  friend,"  and  Lady  Anne  coughed,  or  smiled, 
and  ostentatiously  changed  the  subject.  Of  course,  each  in- 
quirer either  already  knew,  or  speedily  discovered,  that  Mr.  Bar- 
ham  was  the  friend  alluded  to,  and  naturally  enough  concluded 
there  must  be  "  something  in  it,"  or  Lady  Anne,  the  pink  of 
propriety,  would  never  permit  her  daughter  to  remain  almost 
alone  with  a  young  man;  nor  would  her  daughter  be  inclined 
to  lose  a  ball,  for  the  best  mere  friend  she  had  in  the  world. 
The  approaching  marriage  of  Mr.  Barham  and  Maria  Wilmot, 
therefore,  became  buzzed  about  the  room;  some  in  their  zeal  to 
prove  their  assertions,  insisting  that  they  had  the  information 
from  Mr.  Barham  himself;  others  gave  Lady  Anne  as  their  au- 
thority; others  Maria  Wilmot,  and  so  on,  but  all  were  sure  of 
the  fact;  and  the  mother  of  the  bride-elect  was  overwhelmed 
with  compliments  and  congratulations;  but  she  only  "  assured 
her  kind  friends  that  it  was  all  a  mistake;  that  there  really  was 
no  truth  in  the  report,  there  was  not,  indeed!" 

"  Oh,  come  now.  Lady  Anne,  there  is  no  use  denying  it," 
said  Mr.  Malony,  "  particularly  to  me,  for  I  always  knew  how 
the  land  lay  in  that  quarter.  Well,  I  wish  you  joy;  Barham  is 
a  right  good  fellow;  just  the  man  to  make  a  woman  happy;  a 
capital  shot,  ridfs  like  the  devil,  and  would  as  soon  slap  a 
man^s  face,  as  eat  his  breakfast,— I  wish  you  joy  from  my  heart! 
but  when  is  it  to  be?" 


206  CANVASSING. 

"  We  have  not  yet  quite  settled  the  when,^^  replied  the  Lady, 
smiling-. 

And  here  we  would  request  the  reader  to  imagine  the  ball 
over,  and  permit  us  to  end  our  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Apart  from  all  the  gossip  about  him,  would  it  not  be  an  aot  of 
christian  charity,  to  inquire  what  has  really  become,  during 
this  long  interval,  of  our  poor  wounded  lover  of  fun,  now  that 
we  have  a  little  leisure  on  our  hands? 

As  he  was  leaving  the  court-house  in  company  with  Mr. 
Malony,  the  memorable  morning  of  the  duel,  he  was  met  by 
Lady  Anne,  who  enticed  him  home  with  her,  by  promising  him 
some  capital  fun  at  the  electioneering  dinner  she  was  to  give 
that  day. 

He  laughed  during  the  evening,  with  all  his  customary  en- 
ergy; he,  and  his  wounded  fellow-duellist,  being  the  noisiest 
revellers,  and  most  affectionate  friends  of  the  part)^  But,  un- 
fortunately he  drank  rather  more  on  that  occasion  than  was  his 
custom;  the  consequence  of  which  was,  that  (not  being  an  eel,  or 
an  L'ish'.urn,  and  therefore  not  used  to  being  skinned,  or  knock- 
ed on  the  head),  before  morning  he  was  in  a  burning  fever,  roar- 
ing aboutfun  and  pistols,  and  requiring  Pat  Murphy's  and  Barthy 
Kilfoy's  united  strength  to  keep  him  from  jumping  out  of  the 
window;  during  his  illness,  nothing  could  equal  Lady  Anne's 
tender  and  devoted  attention,  sitting  up  with  him,  and  suffering 
no  hand  but  her  own  to  smooth  his  pillow,  or  give  liim  his 
draughts.  Her  care  was,  as  every  body  remarked,  motherly, 
and  indeed,  Maria  also  gained  much  credit  by  her  praise-worthy 
attentions  to  their  young  guest;  for  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to 
move  into  an  adjoining  a{)artment,  converted  for  his  conveni- 
ence into  a  temporary  sitting  room,  the  kind  Maria  had  always 
some  nice  little  funny  story  to  beguile  his  tedious  hours  of  re- 
covery, seldom  or  ever  leaving  the  invalid,  except  for  a  short 
walk,  and  apparently  totally  uninterested  in  the  scene  of  excite- 
ment which  absorbed  every  body  else. 

Oh  the  morning  after  the  ball,  Mr.  Barbara,  for  the  first  time 
since  his  illness,  joined  the  family  at  breakfast.     Lord  War- 


CANVASSING.  207 

ringdon  and  Isabel  soon  slipped  away  to  say  some  more  last 
words,  previous  to  his  lordship's  threatened  departure  for  Lon- 
don, with  Mr.  Wilmot,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  necessary 
preparations  for  the  reception  of  his  affianced  bride,  who  was 
shortly  to  follow  with  her  mother  and  sister;  and  Mr.  Wilmot, 
who  had  just  arrived,  retired  to  learn  from  Pat  Murphy,  all  the 
"  ins  and  outs*'  of  the  election;  so  that  of  the  group  part  assem- 
bled at  breakfast,  there  now  remained  but  Lady  Anne,  Maria, 
and  her  '*  invalid  friend." 

"And  so  now  its  over,  election,  chairing,  and  all,  and  I  have 
not  seen  one  bit  of  it;  I,  that  could  not  sleep  for  a  week  before 
the  poll  opened,  thinkincr  of  the  fun  I  should  have  had, — not  to 
have  had  any  at  all, — isn't  it  too  bad]"  asked  Barham,  in  a  tone 
of  ffood-humoured  discontent. 

Maria  and  her  mother  agreed  that  it  was,  indeed,  a  grievous 
misfortune. 

"By  the  way.  Miss  Wilmot,  I  was  just  thinking  how  very 
droll  it  is  that  your  guess  about  a  duel  being  my  second  adven- 
ture, should  have  turned  out  true;  is'nt  it  very  funny?  how  you 
must  have  laughed  when  you  heard  I  was  wounded.  I  am  very 
sorry  I  did'nt  think  of  y)uttiiig  off  my  duel  for  a  few  days,  just 
to  see  a  little  of  the  fun  first, — but  1  was  so  vexed,  you  see,  at 
the  time,  that  I  never  thought  of  it, — Miss  Wilmot,  I  forget 
what  you  said  my  third  adventure  in  Ireland  would  heV 

"To  be  married,  I  think,"  replied  Maria,  carelessly, — "  was 
it  notl" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember;  but  I  don't  think  that  guess  is  as 
lucky  as  the  other,  for  as  I  am  not  married  yet,  it  is'nt  likely  I 
shall  be,  in  the  few  days  1  remain  in  Ireland." 

"  Are  you  going  so  soon"?"  inquired  Lady  Anne,  her  heart 
sinking  within  her  at  this  cool  announcement.  "  I  thought  you 
were  to  wait  for  us,  and  travel  together." 

"  Why  I  must,  you  see,  whether  I  will  or  no;  Sir  Wil- 
loughby  Turner  has  written  me  such  a  blowing-up,  because  I 
stay  idling  here;  he  says,  instead  of  being  at  college,  reading 
my  course;  and  threatening  he  won't  give  me  a  farthing  of  mo- 
ney till  I  return.  'Tisn't  his  money,  at  any  rate,  so  he  need 
not  badger  me  so,  for  spending  my  own.  1  shall  he  so  glad 
when  I  come  cf  age,  and  can  do  as  I  like.  And  I  shall  be  so 
sorry  to  go!  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  with  myself,  when 
1  return  to  England,  I  shall  find  it  so  stupid.  I  never,  in  all 
my  life,  was  so  happy  as  I  have  been  here,  nor  met  such  goodf 
nature.  As  for  your  kindness.  Lady  Anne,  and  Miss  Wilmot's, 
I  never  can  forget  it  as  long  as  1  live, — nursing  me  as  if  I  was 
15  * 


206  •  CANVASSING. 

your  son  and  brother.  I  shall  very  often  think  of  you  both. 
Will  yoii  not  come  soon  and  see  rae  at  CralcourtT  I  shall  be  so 
delighted  to  see  you,  particularly  Miss  Wilmot;  and  you  must 
not  forget  to  bring  all  your  servants,  and  try  and  persuade  Fa- 
ther John  to  come,  too!  how  glad  I  shall  be,  to  be  sure!" 

Lady  Anne  looked  over  at  her  daughter,  who  immediately 
arose  and  left  the  room. 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Barham,  may  I  ask  were  you  serious  in  inviting 
my  daughter  as  a  friend  to  your  IiouseV  asked  his  hostess,  in 
a  tone  of  apparently  suppressed  emotion. 

*'0h,  yes,  to  be  sure,  quite  serious;  I  hope  you  have  too 
good  an  opinion  of  me  to  suppose  1  was  not  perfectly  in  earnest, 
when  I  invited  her  to  Cralcourt:  could  you  possibly  imagine 
me  so  ungrateful]"  he  asked,  with  warmth. 

The  lady  played  awhile  with  the  chain  round  her  neck,  and 
hemmed;  at  length,  she  said,  in  a  constrained  manner,  "  Mr. 
Barham,  you  have  not,  it  seems,  perceived  the  drift  of  my  ques- 
tion." 

Mr.  Barham  entreated  her  to  explain;  but  she  remained 
silent,  and  apparently,  very  much  embarrassed,  and  somewhat 
offended. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  displeased  you,  in  some  way.  Lady  Anne; 
I  wish  you  would  tell  me  in  what." 

"  I  will  be  candid  with  you,"  she  replied,  with  great  seeming 
effort;  "I  am  disappointed  in  you." 

"  How, — what  have  I  done?" 

"  You  have  acted  ungenerously,  very  ungenerously,  towards 
a  family  who  deserved,  from  you,  at  least,  different  treatment." 

•'  What  family]"  the  young  man  asked,  surprised. 

*'  Mine,  Mr.  Barham." 

"  Yours,  Lady  Annel  I  act  ungenerously  towards  your  fa- 
mily! how?" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Barham,  recollect  yourself,  I  beg." 

Mr.  Barham  did  recollect  himself,  as  desired,  but  in  vain. 
After  a  careful  review,  in  his  own  mind,  of  his  conduct  during 
the  two  months  of  his  acquaintance  with,  and  domestication  in, 
the  Wilmot  family,  he  could  not  charge  his  conscience  with  a 
single  act,  word,  or  even  thought,  of  the  nature  imputed  to  him. 

"  I  declare.  Lady  Anne,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments'  pause, 
"  I  cannot  imagine  what  you  mean; — there  must  be  some  mis- 
take." 

"It  is  a  mistake,  then,  which  the  whole  county  has  fallen 
into,  as  well  as  myself,"  replied  the  lady,  with  a  slightly  sar- 
castic expression  about  the  mouth;  ♦'  for  every  one  who  saw 
you  together,  formed  the  same  opinion." 


CANVASSING.  209 

"  Saw  me  and  whom  together,  Lady  Annel" 

"  My  daughter,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  And  what  opinion  do  you  say  they  formed]"  again  queried 
the  puzzled  boy. 

"  Mr.  Barham,  when  a  gentleman  pays  exclusive  attention 
to  a  young  lady,  seeking  her  society  in  preference  to  that  of  all 
others;  and  this  preference  continuing  during  months  to  be 
manifested  before  strangers,  as  well  as  her  own  family;  what  is 
the  motive  generally  assigned  by  the  world  for  his  conduct]" 

"  Oh,  people  say  that  he  is  in  love  with  her; — but  why  do 
you  askl" 

Lady  Anne  continued: — "And  if  the  young  lady,  consider- 
ing these  attentions  in  the  light  that  all  her  acquaintances  do, 
should  become  attached  to  the  gentleman,  giving  him  such 
proofs  of  her  affection  as  subject  her  to  public  comment,  do  you 
think  the  gentleman  would  act  generously,  or  even  honourably, 
if,  after  all  this,  he  invites  the  lady  as  2i  friend  to  his  house]" 

The  light  suddenly  flashed  on  the  bewildered  Barham — 
"  My  goodness!  surely  you  cannot  mean  Ma/,  Lady  Anne]" 

"  Mean  what]"  she  inquired. 

"  Mean  that  I  paid  attentions  to  Miss  Wilmot,  and  that 
she "  he  stopped,  embarrassed. 

"  And  that  she  is  attached  to  you]"  asked  Lady  Anne,  finish- 
ing the  sentence  for  him.  "  Yes,  that  was  exactly  my  mean- 
ing." 

*'  But,  Mis?  W  ilmot  and  I  never  talked  a  word  about  love  in 
all  our  lives, — no,  no  more  than  I  and  Fatlier  .Tohn  did:  we 
used  only  to  laugh  together.  I  never  intended, "  he  hesi- 
tated again. 

"  I  cannot  possibly  tell  what  you  may  have  intended,  my 
dear  Mr.  Barham,"  said  Lady  Anne,  taking  him  up;  "all  I  can 
know  is,  what  you  have  done;  and  all  I  can  say  is,  that  every 
body  who  saw  you  together  supposed  you  were  her  declared 
lover.  Do  you  imagine  I  would  otherwise  have  permitted  her 
to  sit,  for  hours,  by  your  coiich,  and  to  remain  at  home  and 
alone  with  you,  on  so  remarkable  an  occasion  as  an  election 
ball]  Her  absence  was  naturally  commented  upon,  and  then  there 
was  a  laugh  among  the  gentlemen, — '  IMiss  "Wilmot,  of  course, 
had  remained  with  her  friend,  Mr.  Barham:'  every  one  asking 
when  it  was  to  be:  I  replied  '  that  my  daughter  had  not  taken  me 
into  her  confidence,  and,  therefore,  that  I  knew  just  as  much 
about  the  matter  as  they  did.'  Either  you  have  deceived  my 
daughter,  or  she  has  deceived  me;  whichever  way  it  is,  she 
will  now  become  the  ridicule  of  all  the  envious  misses  of  her 


210  CANVASSING. 

acquaintance;  the  gay,  laughing  Maria  Wilmot  turned  into  a 
lackidaisacal  young  lady,  condemned  to  wear  the  willow,  will, 
of  course,  amazingly  divert  them;  and,  for  this  highly  gratify- 
ing situation,  she  will  have  to  thank  you.  Am  I  not,  there- 
fore, justified  in  saying  that  yoii  have  acted  ungenerously  to- 
wards her]" 

"  But  how  am  I  accountable  for  what  people  choose  to  say  I 
meant,  but  which  I  did  not  mean?"  asked  Barham,  naturally 
enough  objecting  to  Lady  Anne's  forced  inference. 

"  You  don't  feel  any  regret,  then,  at  being,  though  uninten- 
tionally (as  you  assert),  the  cause  of  injury  to  an  amiable  and 
confiding  young  person?"  inquired  Lady  Anne.  "  I  must,  in 
that  case,  have,  indeed,  a  bad  opinion  of  you,  and  bitterly  re- 
gret the  day  we  ever  met." 

Poor  Barham  bit  his  lips,  and  knit  his  brows  in  painful  and 
perplexing  cogitation.  He  could  not  bear  ta  think  of  his  kind 
and  merry  friend,  Maria,  becoming  the  laughing-stock  of  her 
acquaintances,  because  she  had  so  often  made  laughing-stocks 
of  others  for  his  amusement,  and  yet  he  did  not  relish  the  alter- 
native,— namely,  making  her  his  wife. 

He  was  still  hesitating,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Ma- 
lony  appeared. 

"  Ah!  my  dear  fellow,  how  goes  it?"  he  said,  advancing, and 
shaking  the  late  sufferer  cordially  by  the  hand.  "  t  am  de- 
lighted to  see  you  out  of  your  room,  at  last,  and,  by  the  way, 
I  don't  think  you  ever  would  have  come  out  of  it  at  all,  but  for 
Lady  Anne  and  ]Miss  Wilmot." 

Barbara's  heart  smote  him,  and  he  bit  his  lips  more  energeti- 
cally than  before. 

Lady  Anne  made  an  excuse  for  leaving  the  room. 

"  Well,  when  is  it  to  be,  Barham?"  inquired  Malony,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder,  and  smiling  significantly. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  replied  the  lover,  malgre  lui. 

"  Why,  your  wedding,  to  be  sure!" 

"  My  wedding?" 

"  Oh,  come,  nonsense,  Barham,  it's  no  secret  now,  I  can  tell 
you;  the  whole  town  knows  it  as  well  as  you  do  yourself. 
There  was  nothing  else  talked  of  at  the  ball,  last  night: — well, 
I  wish  you  joy;  you  could  not  have  made  a  better  choice." 

"  I  wonder  why  he  did  not  choose  her  himself,  then,"  thought 
the  young  Englishman. 

Mr.  Malony  continued:  "  A  good-natured,  pleasant  girl,  as 
ever  lived,  and  devilish  fond  of  you,  she  must  be,  to  have 
stayed  whole  days  in  your  sick  room,  instead  of  dashing  about 


CANVASSING. 


211 


at  the  election,  and,  faith,  we  had  a  loss  in  her;  many  a  man 
she  has  laughed  into  voting-  for  her  father: — she  will  keep  you 
alive,  Barham." 

"  But,  suppose,  Malony,  that  all  this  should  be  a  mistake, 
and  that  we  are  not  going  to  be  mvirried  at  all;  what  would  you 
say  thenT" 

"  Why,  I  should  say  it  would  be  very  odd  in  you,  and  very 
unlucky  for  her:  I  assure  yon,  that  both  herself  and  mother  are 
commented  upon  already,  for  their  imprudence  about  you,  and 
nothing  kept  the  peoples'  tongues  between  their  teeth,  at  the 
ball,  but  the  supposition  of  your  engagement.  Oh,  no,  you  are 
too  honourable  a  fellow  for  that,"  observed  Malony. 

*'  I  am  in  for  it,  I  see,"  said  Barham  to  himself:  he  paused  a 
moment,  and  then  added  aloud,  '*  Well,  Malony,  no  harm  done, 
whatever  they  say,  for  we  are  engaged." 

"To  be  sure,  I  knew  you  were;  have  you  got  your  guar- 
dian's consent?" 

"  I  have  not  yet  ajiplied  for  it." 

"  He  may  refuse,  perhaps,  thinking  you  too  young;  but  j-ou 
can  go  to  Gretna,  in  that  case,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  the  "happy  man." 

Here  Lady  Anne  and  her  daughter  re-entered  the  room  to- 
gether. 

Mr.  Malony  walked  up  to  Maria,  and,  after  the  usual  saluta- 
tion, "  wished  her  joy." 

"Of  what?"  she  inquired,  looking  surprised,  and,  for  once 
in  her  life,  at  least,  feeling  precisely  as  she  seemed  to  feel;  for 
her  mother's  report  of  the  conversation  with  her  intended  lover 
had  not,  by  any  means,  prepared  her  for  so  speedy  and  joyous  a 
conclusion. 

Mr.  Malony  laughed.  "Ah,  you  will  be  Maria  Wilmot,  I 
see,  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.     How  innocent  you  look!" 

"I  really  am  innocent  of  all  comprehension  of  your  meaning, 
Mr.  Malony,"  she  replied. 

"  Confess,  like  the  frank,  honest  girl  you  are,  that  you  are 
going  to  be  married,  and  not  sorry  for  it,"  he  added,  lowering 
his  voice  into  a  confidential  whisper. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Malony,  like  the  frank,  honest  girl  I  am,  1  de- 
clare to  you  'tis  all  a  mistake,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,"  Ma- 
ria answered,  summoning  up  her  usual  carelessness  of  manner. 

"All  a  mistake  !  that's  just  what  Barham  himself  said,  at 
first,  and  afterwards  acknowledged  it  was  no  mistake  at  all; — 
there's  never  believing  a  word  you  lovers  say." 

Lady  Anne  fixed  her  examining  look  on  Barham;  he  under- 
stood its  meaning,  and  immediately  advanced  towards  her. 


212 


CANVASSING. 


"  Lady  Anne,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  wish  to  speak 
with  you." 

They  withdrew  together  to  a  window,  and  Barhani  contin- 
ued:—" Mdlony  tells  me,  not  only  that  every  body  thinks  Miss 
Wilniot  and  I  are  eucraged,  but  that  she  is  even  blamed  for  all 
the  kindness  she  has  shown  me;  I  need  not  say  how  unhappy 
I  should  be,  were  1  the  cause  of  injury  to  her;  and  so,  I  was 
thinking  that  we  had  better  he  married,  since  it  is  the  general 
opinion  that  we  ought.  I  will  thank  you  to  mention  what  I 
have  said  to  Miss  Wilmot." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  young  friend,"  replied  Lady  Anne,  in 
her  most  endearing  manner:  "  and  1  need  not  say  with  what 
pleasure  I  shall  receive  you  into  my  family.  I  must  ever  love 
and  honour  the  manly  and  feeling  mind  you  have,  by  your  pre- 
sent decision,  evinced." 

Mr.  Malony,  after  again  shaking  hands  and  wishing  joy, 
took  his  leave;  and  Lady  Anne  ran  to  communicate  the  good 
tidings  to  her  husband  and  young  daughter. 

About  a  fortnight  after  Mr.  Barham's  proposal,  Cralcourt  re- 
ceived Maria  VVilmot  as  its  mistress;  and,  in  another  fortnight 
after  that,  the  Morning  Post  announced  the  marriage  of  Vis- 
count Warringdon,  eldest  son  of  Earl  Glenville,  and  Isabel, 
second  daughter  of  Robert  Wilmot,  Esq.,  of  Castle  Wilmot,  in 

the  county  of ,  late  M.P.,  &c.     Then  followed  a  long 

list  of  the  Dukes,  Marquisses,  Earls,  and  their  consorts,  who 
had  partaken  of  the  elegant  dejune,  at  the  splendid  mansion  in 
Park-lane,  belonging  to  the  Earl  of  Rochford,  uncle  to  the 
lovely,  amiable,  and  accomplished  bride:  and  it  was  also  fur- 
ther stated,  for  the  instruction  of  the  world  at  large,  that  the 
happy  pair  had  set  off,  immediately  after  the  ceremony,  for  Sut- 
ton Park,  the  seat  of  Earl  Glenville,  where  they  were  to  re- 
main during  the  honey  moon, 


CHAPTER  XVL 


Lady  Warringdon  was  a  beauty,  a  hel  esprit^  a  leader  of  fash- 
ion,— was  she  happy] 

We  will  answer  that  question  by  asking  the  reader  to  ima- 
gine four  years  elapsed  since  the  event  which  closed  our  last 


CANVASSING.  213 

chapter,  and  accompany  us  to  the  same  London  mansion  in 
which  we  opened  oar  tale,  and  enter  with  us  an  apartment 
which  bears  the  stam^i  of  female  occupancy.  The  piano  stands 
open,^-the  harp  uncov^icd, — a  guitar  is  carelessly  thrown  aside 
on  an  ottoman, — richly-Lcund  volumes  lie  scattered  about  the 
room, — new  music,  albu-.ns,  annuals,  half-cut  reviews,  and  vases 
of  flowers,  intermingled  in  not  ungraceful  confusion,  with  the 
thousand  little  expensive  trifles  which  a  fashionable  woman 
loves  to  collect  around  her.  A  lady,  half-reclined  on  a  sofa, 
listless  and  unoccupied,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire;  the  blaze 
had  caught  the  cheeK  turned  to  it,  but  the  other  side  of  her  face 
was  pale;  and  pale,  one  might  have  supposed,  rather  from  late 
hours,  than  painful  thoughts,  were  it  not  for  the  drooping  atti- 
tude of  her  head,  and  the  slight  contraction  of  her  brow.  Her 
reverie  was  broken  by  a  tap  at  the  door. 

*'  Come  in,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  harmonized  with  the 
pensive  refinement  of  her  appearance. 

A  handsome,  fashionable-ltoking  man  entered. 

"  How  d'ye  do?"  he  carelessly  asked,  throwing  himself  on 
the  couch  opposite  to  that  occupied  by  the  lady. 

"Very  well,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  answered,  in 
the  same  tone  of  apparent  good-humoured  indifference:  but  one, 
skilled  in  interpreting  the  inflexions  of  the  human  voice  would 
have  detected  displeasure  and  dislike  lurking  under  the  assumed 
carelessness  of  both  the  speakers. 

"  I  wonder  you  did  not  go  to  hear  Pasta  last  night;  all  the 
world  was  there,"  observed  the  gentleman.  "Didn't  you  men- 
tion something  about  your  wish  of  seeing  the  new  opera,  the 
last  time  I  saw  you"?" 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  I  did,"  replied  the  lady;  "but  recollect  that 
the  last  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeino-  you  is  full  three  days 
ago;  and  then  you,  who  have  studied  female  nature  so  accu- 
rately, and  so  successfully,  will  not  wonder  at  my  having  chang- 
ed my  mind." 

"Certainly  not — I  neither  wonder  nor  condemn;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  consider  woman's  changeability  as  her  greatest  charm, 
as  well  as  her  highest  privilege.  What  can  be  more  tiresome 
or  insipid  than  those  women  who  are  '  the  same  yesterday,  to- 
day, and  for  ever'^you  see  I  can  quote  scripture,  my  fair  wife. 
By  the  way,  may  I  ask  whether  yoor  cutting  Lady  Seaton  the 

other  night  at  the  Duchess  of 's  is  to  be  considered  as  part 

and  parcel  of  the  same  charming  vacillation-  of  purpose  which 
occasioned  your  cutting  the  opera  last  night]" 

"  No;"  replied  the  lady,  in  a  quiet  tone,  but  with  a  height- 


214  CANVASSING. 

ened  colour;  **  I  have  cut  the  opera  merely  for  a  night,  whereas 
I  have  cut  Lady  Seaton  for  ever." 

"  Indeed!"  said  the  orentleman,  brushing  up  his  hair  at  the 
mirror,  and  with  affected  indifference  of  manner,  belied  how- 
ever by  the  sarcastic  curl  of  his  lips.  "  If  it  be  not  an  imperti- 
nent question,  may  I  ask  why]" 

"  Why]"  repeated  the  lady,  and  her  beautiful  mouth  wore 
the  same  scornful  expression  as  that  of  her  companion. 

"  Yes,  why?" 

The  lady  gave  a  forced  laugh,  and  the  gentleman  pushed  in 
and  out  his  lips. 

"  These  little  airs  of  disdain  are  quite  bewitchincr,  I  confess, 
and  would,  to  a  lover,  prove  absolutely  irresistible,  but  as  I  hap- 
pen unfortunately  to  be  only  your  husband,  they  are  thrown 
away  upon  me.  May  I  request  then  that  you  will  favour  me 
with  an  intelligible  answer  to  an  intelligible  question:  why  do 
you  intend  cutting  your  friend  Lady  Seaton]" 

"  Your  friend,  you  mean,  my  Lord." 

"  Well,  granted  she  is  my  friend,  is  that  a  reason  why  you 
should  reject  her  as  an  acquaintance?" 

"  Yes,  a  full  and  sufficient  reason,"  the  lady  firmly  replied. 
"  If  you  were  not  always  at  her  house,  I  might  go  there  som.e- 
tiraes." 

"All  very  romantic  and  interesting,"  observed  the  husband, 
yawning;  "  and  quite  in  character  for  the  heroine  of  a  novel,  or 
a  young  lady  brought  up  by  a  maiden  aunt,  during  the  honey- 
moon; but  rather  too  new  in  a  woman  of  fashion  after  four 
years'  marriage;  these  tender  reproaches  are,  I  must  acknow- 
ledge tant  soit  peu  ridicules;  although  it  must  be  of  course  vastly 
flattering  to  my  vanity,  to  find  my  lovely  and  admired  wi-fe  still 
country  girl  enough  to  be  jealous  of  me." 

His  cold  and  ironical  smile  was  repaid  by  a  glance  of  haughty 
indignation,  as  she  exclaimed: 

"  Jealous  of  you]  oh  no!  that  time  has  long  past,  my  good 
Lord.  No;  in  m}'  refusal  to  associate  with  Lady  Seaton,  I  am 
actuated  by  the  same  motive  which  would  prevent  my  continu- 
ing acquaintanceship  with  any  otlier  married  man's  friend; — 
respect  for  myself." 

"  But  Lady  Seaton  is  received  by  all  the  world,"  Lord  Glen- 
ville  replied,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  anger. 

"  Ver}'  possibly,  all  the  world  does  not  happen  to  know  what 
I  know  of  her." 

"And  do  you  imagine  that  it  will  be  in  your  power  to  put 
out  of  society  the  most  admired  woman  in  London,  yourself  al- 
ways of  course  excepted]"  the  Earl  added  sarcastically. 


CANVASSING.  216 

"  I  do  not  want  to  put  Lady  Seaton  out  of  society,  I  merely 
desire  to  exclude  her  from  my  own  house." 

"  As  your  house  happens  also  to  be  mine,  I  beg  leave  to  enter 
my  protest  against  that  decree.  While  she  is  received  any- 
where else,  she  shall  be  received  here,"  said  Lord  Glenville,ia 
an  easy  unembarrassed  tone  of  authority. 

"Then,  my  lord,"  replied  his  lady,  "  it  is  fair  to  inform  you 
that  the  day  she  enters  your  house  1  leave  it." 

"  And  so  I  must  e'en  take  my  choice  between  you?  sad  al- 
ternative! I  would  fain  be  blessed  with  the  presence  of  both," 
the  gentleman  sneered. 

*'  My  God!  is  it  then  come  to  this]"  Lady  Glenville  mur- 
mured. 

A  thundering  knock  at  the  hall-door  caused  a  momentary  in- 
terruption in  the  matrimonial  dialogue,  and  a  footman  soon  after 
entered  the  room,  and  announced  the  Marquis  of  Tiverton, 

The  lady  coloured,  and  the  gentleman  smiled. 

"  Shew  him  up,"  he  said. 

"  Into  another  room,  then,  if  you  please,"  interrupted  the 
lady;  "  I  am  not  in  tone  to  see  company  to-day." 

*'  Ah  the  cavaliere  servanfe  is  never  company,  you  know;  mais 
comme  vouz  voudrez^^'^  he  replied  carelessly.  "  Ju  plaisir,  ma 
belk,^^  he  nodded,  as  he  left  the  room  to  receive  his  friend. 

Lady  Glenville  started  from  her  seat,  and  walked  up  and 
down  in  agitation. 

"And  is  this  the  conclusion  of  a  marriage  of  affection?  after 
four  years  of  outrage  and  insult,  to  be  now  thrust  from  his  house; 
my  husband's  house;  the  house  of  the  man  I  loved; — ah,  how 
deeply,  devotedly,  and  until  lately — very  lately — how  undeviat- 
ingly!  My  God!  have  I  deserved  this? — Have  11  Yes!"  she  added, 
suddenly  sinking  on  her  knees — "  Yes!  for  in  the  day  of  my 
happiness  I  never  bowed  before  Thee  in  gratitude;  I  never  gave 
thanks  for  my  blessings,  nor  prayed  for  their  continuance.  I 
was  happy,  and  I  cared  not  to  inquire  who  had  made  me  so.  I 
did  not  even  come  to  Thee  in  my  sorrow.  I  sought  consolation 
elsewhere  for  a  wrung  and  wretched  heart — sought,  but  never 
found  it!  My  friends  laughed,  while  I  wept.  From  one  being 
alone  have  I  met  sympathy;  and  from  that  sympathy,  oh,  my 
God!  in  mercy  protect  me  now!" 

She  was  still  in  the  attitude  of  supplication  when  the  door 
suddenly  opened,  and  Lord  Glenville  and  his  friend  entered; 
she  arose  hastily,  and  a  deep  flush  of  resentment  and  confusion 
overspread  her  face,  as  she  glanced  from  her  husband  to  his 
companion. 

16 


216  CANVASSING. 

"  La  belle  devoteP^  exclaimed  her  lord,  ironically.  "  Tiver- 
ton, confess  I  am  the  happiest  husband  you  know;  'tisn't  every 
man  who,  when  he  unexpectedly  enters  his  wife's  boudoir,  need 
only  fear  interrupting  a  flirtation  with  Heaven.  How  interest- 
ing to  find  her,  before  whom  all  knees  bow  in  homage,  herself 
bending  the  knee!  What  a  pretty  subject  for  a  sonnet!  *0n 
Lady  G.  praying.^  We  have  plenty  of  verses  on  sleeping, 
singing,  dancing,  playing  beauties,  but  not  any,  at  least  that  I 
recollect,  on  a  praying  one.  Now,  there's  a  subject  for  your 
muse,  Tiverton;  talk  it  over  with  the  fair  devotee,  while  1  go, 
for  a  minute,  to  Lady  Seaton's,"  accompanying  this  studied  in- 
sult by  a  glance  of  a  strange  sort  of  expression  at  his  wife.  It 
did  not  pass  unobserved  by  her,  for  she  happened  at  that  mo- 
ment to  raise  her  eyes  to  his;  and  the  colour,  which  had  mounted 
to  her  face  at  his  insult,  suddenly  left  it  at  his  glance. 

"  Jtdieu,  mon  ami!  1  shall  meet  you  at  five  in  the  Park,"  said 
the  fashionable  husband,  as  he  ran  down  stairs. 

Lady  Glenville  had  assumed  her  usual  easy,  unembarrassed 
manner,  but  although  she  talked  of  the  nothings  of  the  day  with 
more  than  her  customary  vivacity,  it  was  evident  to  her  com- 
panion, from  the  varying  of  her  complexion,  that  her  apparent 
spirits  were  the  result  of  an  inward  struggle.  He  became  ab- 
stracted, and  there  was  a  silence  of  a  few  moments,  which  was 
then  broken  by  him. 

"Something  has  discomposed  you,  this  morning.  Lady  Glen- 
ville." 

"  Why  should  you  imagine  so"?"  she  asked. 

"  Again  at  your  old  habit  of  giving  a  question  for  an  an- 
swer!" Lord  Tiverton  said,  smiling.  "  And  yet  I  would  not,  if 
I  could,  break  you  of  it;  'tis  the  natural  recourse  of  an  ingenu- 
ous mind,  that  will  not  give  an  untrue  answer,  and  cannot  give 
the  true  one;  and,  in  its  simplicity,  imagines  it  has,  by  its  art- 
less device,  baffled  the  curious  inquirer.  Ah,  but  you  are  a  bad 
dissembler.  Lady  Glenville:  'you  wear  your  heart  upon  your 
sleeve,'  and  you  know  what  follows." 

"  Hush!"  replied  the  lady  playfully,  though  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes.  "Who  talks  of  hearts  in  tiiese  days]  What  would  be- 
come of  your  character  as  a  man  of  fashion,  if  I  were  to  say  that 
I  had  heard  you  mention  such  a  word!" 

"Lady  Glenville,  something  has  agitated  you,  this  morning, 
I  am  sure  there  has.  I  know  you  too  well  to  be  deceived.  Al- 
low me,  then,  the  privilege  of  a  sincere  and  attached  friend,  and 
give  me  your  confidence.  I  may  be  able  perhaps  to  explain  for 
you,  or  even  advise.     You  will  at  least  believe  me  anxious  to 


CANVASSING.  217 

serve  you;  my  ability  to  do  so,  alas!  remains  to  be  proved:  but 
such  as  I  am,  head  and  heart,  you  know  that  you  can  command 
me." 

"  I  am  obliged  by  your  offer,  my  Lord;  but  there  is  no  room 
for  explanation — no  need  of  counsel  on  the  present  occasion;" 
replied  his  companion.  "  Lord  Glenville  has  signified  to  me 
his  intention  of  forcing  Lady  Seaton  on  me,  and  I — " 

"  Oh  impossible!"  exclaimed  the  Marquis,  interrupting  her. 
"Impossible! — you  mistake  him." 

"And  1,"  the  lady  continued,  "have  signified  to  him  my  in- 
tention of  leaving  his  house,  if  he  does.  Oh  no!  I  have  not 
mistaken  him!"  she  added  bitterly. 

Lord  Tiverton  rose  abruptly  from  his  seat,  and  paced  the  room 
in  much  agitation.     Suddenly  he  stopped: — 

"  And  when  you  leave  Glenville,  where  will  yon  go,  while 
awaiting  the  preliminary  arrangements  for  your  future  mainte- 
nance] Your  mother  is  not  in  town,  and  even  if  she  were,  you 
know  how  little  she  is  able  to  enter  into  your  feelings — your 
virtuous  feelings — of  what  is  due  to  a  wife;  then  your  sister — " 

"  I  know  all  you  would  say,  my  Lord,"  interrupted  Lady 
Glenville.  "  I  do  not  require  to  be  reminded  that  I  stand  alone 
in  the  world,"  she  added  mournfully. 

"  Alone  in  the  world!"  he  exclaimed,  taking  a  seat  near  her; 
"  no,  not  while  I  remain  in  it!"  And  then  lowering  his  voice 
into  a  whisper,"  there  is  one  house  at  least  which  would  open 
wide  to  receive  you,  one  heart,  where  you  would  be  enshrined, 
worshipped;  a  heart  consecrated  to  you  alone;  one,  I  will  not 
say  worthy  of  you,  but  at  least  more  worthy  than  his  who  would 
prefer  a  Lady  Seaton  to  you.  Try  a  new  fate — you  are  unhappy 
— neglected:  try  a  new  fate,  beloved  Isabel!"  he  murmured  ten- 
derly, endeavouring  gently  to  unlock  one  of  the  clasped  hands 
between  which  her  head  was  buried. 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  but  it  was  cold  and  trembling;  and 
when  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  face  was  deadly  pale. 

"Leave  me.  Marquis  of  Tiverton!"  she  said,  slowly  and  so- 
lemnly. "  We  can  never  meet  again.  Leave  me,  my  Lord," 
for  he  still  hesitated.  "  Leave  me  at  once,  and  for  ever;  1 
know  you  at  last!" 

She  rang  the  bell.  "I  wish  your  Lordship  good  morning," 
she  added,  as  a  servant  attended  the  Marquis  to  his  carriage. 

"  Ah,  Glenville!  were  you  demon  enough  to  plan  this!"  Isa- 
bel exclaimed,  when  once  again  alone.  "  Oh  yes!  yes — I  read 
it  in  the  cold,  heartless  triumph  of  that  glance — that  parting 
look.     Yes!  Glenville  you  were  demon  enough  to  plan  this. 


218  CANVASSING. 

You,  my  husband,  my  protector,  who  vowed  before  God  to  love 
and  to  cherish  me.  You  would  have  betrayed  me  to  degrada- 
tion. And  is  this  plotter  against  the  honour  of  his  own  wife 
the  man  who  was  once  my  Warringdon;  the  man  I  worship- 
ped, alas!  more  than  ever  i  did  my  God!  I  am  punished.  My 
idol  has  fallen;  and  it  has  crushed  me,  even  while  I  knelt  be- 
fore it!  And  now  the  last  frail  reed  on  which  1  leaned  for  hu- 
man sympathy  is  broken.  Tiverton,  too,  plotted  against  me — 
the  tempter  who  offered  balm  for  the  throbbing,  tortured  heart, 
and,  behold!  the  balm  was  poison!  Ah,  Marquis  of  Tiverton, 
you  are  revenged.  When  you  were  only  George  Damer,  with 
a  thousand  a  year,  you  loved  me,  and  I  was  inclined  to  love  you, 
but  my  mother!  Ah,  no!  I  will  be  honest  with  myself  at  least. 
My  own  ambition,  my  own  worldliness  whispered,  I  might  do 
better,  and  I  listened  to  those  bad  counsellors,  and  stifled  my 
growing  attachment.  You  are  revenged,  Tiverton; — I  love  you 
now.  Ay — to  my  own  conscience,  and  to  my  God,  I  will  con- 
fess that  grievous,  sinful  secret.  The  woman  who,  from  ambi- 
tion, would  not  allow  herself  to  love  you,  when  her  love  would 
have  been  virtue,  now  that  she  has  attained  all  which  in  her 
worldliness  she  coveted,  would  give  up  all  and  follow  you, 
were  you  again  George  Damer,  and  she  Isabel  Wilmot,  over 
the  world! — And  the  woman  who  says  this  is  now  the  wife  of 
another!  Are  you  not  revenged,  Marquis  of  Tiverton"?  and  is 
not  my  punishment,  oh,  my  God!  greater  than  I  can  bear, 
though  not  greater  than  I  deserve!" 

The  footman  who  entered  about  an  hour  after  Lord  Tiverton's 
departure,  found  his  lady  lying  on  the  floor,  in  a  state  of  insen- 
sibility. She  was  carried  to  her  ow-n  room,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing was  in  a  brain  fever,  attended  by  three  physicians,  and  the 
papers  rang  with  a  recent  matrimonial  fracas  in  high  life,  and 
of  the  consequent  dangerous  indisposition  of  a  lovely  Countess^ 
and  the  not  consequent  despair  of  her  noble  Lord. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Much  to  Lord  Glenville's  disappointment,  his  lady  did  not  die, 
although  she  had  three  physicians,  and,  as  soon  as  she  reco- 
vered consciousness,  a  clergyman  attending  her. 

"  She  must  feel  herself  going,  since  she  sends  for  a  clergy- 
gyman,"  thought  her  loving  Lord.  A  month  passed,  and  Lady 
Glenville  was  still  confined  to  her  room,  but  able  to  sit  up  for  a 
few  hours.  Her  own  woman  brought  her  the  cards  and  notes 
of  inquiry,  left  during  her  illness;  the  greatest  number  of  both 
were  from  the  Marquis  of  Tiverton. 

"  The  Marquis,  my  Lady,  used  to  call  four  and  five  times  a 
day,  to  ask  after  your  Ladyship,"  said  the  woman.  "I  don't 
think  he  was  very  well  himself,  either,  my  Lady;  he  was  look- 
ing so  pale  and  wan,  you  would  hardly  have  known  him,  my 
Lady; — every  body  was  remarking  it." 

"  Indeed!  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,  Edwards;  and  have  you  hap- 
pened, by  chance,  to  learn  how  he  is  nowV  inquired  the  lady, 
struggling  for  composure. 

"  Oh  yes,  my  Lady,  he  is  now  pretty  well  again:  I  saw  him 
yesterday,  and  he  desired  his  best  compliments  to  your  Lady- 
ship, and  begged  I  would  hand  you  this  note." 

Lady  Glenville's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse  receiving  the 
note,  but  she  recollected  how  strange  this  would  appear  to  the 
woman;  she  took  it,  therefore,  and  broke  the  seal  with  trem- 
bling fingers,  and  a  beating  heart;  the  characters  were  evident- 
ly traced  in  haste  and  agitation,  and  they  ran  thus: — 

"  Your  woman  tells  me  that  you  are,  at  length,  able  to  sit  up, 
and  are  recovering  strength.  You  are  nominally  the  suflferer, 
and  yet  I  have  suffered  more  than  you: — you  lay,  happily,  in- 
sensible to  either  bodily  or  mental  anguish,  while  I  felt  for  you 
all  that  you  did  not  feel  for  yourself:  1  bore  your  and  my  own 
weight  of  trouble  at  the  same  time.  You  have  banished  me 
from  your  presence,  Isabel;  but  I  cannot  banish  you  from  my 
heart.  In  a  few  weeks  I  shall  leave  England: — 1  have  some 
idea  of  a  journey  over-land  to  Persia.  I  require  to  break  new 
ground;  and,  as  it  is  possible,  in  my  present  state  of  health,  that 
1  may  never  return,  will  you  allow  me  to  see  you,  for  a  few  mi- 
nutes, before  I  depart?" 

"  No,  no,  no!"  murmured  the  lady,  (she  had  previously  dis- 
16* 


220 


CANVASSING. 


embarrassed  herself  of  Edwards'  presence)  I  must  not,  I  dare 
not  again  meet  you,  Tiverton.  No:  it  would  be  a  presumptuous 
tempting  of  my  fate.  No!  when  I  was,  as  I  thought,  dying,  I 
prayed  to  be  enabled  to  root  out  of  my  heart  my  sinful  love  for 
you,  and  I  am  sure  He  heard  me;  it  may  not  be  done  in  a 
month,  nor  even  a  year,  but,  with  his  help,  it  will  be  done  be- 
fore I  die,  at  least.  Oh,  I  trust,  I  trust  it  will!  No,  Tiverton 
althouoh  you  are  leaving,  and,  perhaps  for  ever,  your  native 
land,  I  will  not  see  you.  No!  although  in  losing  you,  I  lose 
the  only  human  being  who  cares  about  me,  for  you  do  love  me, 
I  believe,  as  well  as  man  can  love;  but  it  was  love  still,  it  was 
something  to  cling  to,  and — *' 

Edwards  here  bustled  into  the  room. 

'*  I  have  good  news  for  you,  my  Lady!" 

"  Good  news  for  me"?"  repeated  Isabel,  pensively. 

"  Lady  Anne  is  just  arrived  in  town,  at  Lord  Rochford's,  and 
has  sent  to  know  if  you  can  see  her.  She  has  travelled  all  the 
way  from  Rome,  post  haste,  on  seeing  the  accounts  in  the  pa- 
pers, of  your  Ladyship's  illness." 

"Thank  God!"  exclaimed  Lady  Glenville,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  That  was  like  a  mother!  Oh,  my  mother!  this  is  very 
good  of  you." 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Lady  Anne  entered  her  daugh- 
ter's room.  The  mother's  countenance  was  nearly  as  tranquil 
as  usual,  while  her  child  lay  almost  convulsed,  from  contending 
feelings,  in  her  arms. 

"  Dearest,  dearest  mother,  you  pity  me,  do  you  not?"  she  mur- 
mured. "  Oh!  I  know  you  do,  for  you  have  come  to  me,  when 
every  body  else  deseris  me.  "  You  love  your  poor  Isabel 
still!  Oh,  yes,  still,  still:"  and  each  broken  sentence  was  accom- 
panied by  a  fresh  burst  of  tears,  and  a  closer  embrace. 

"  My  dear  Isabel,  pray  compose  yourself,  do,  my  sweet  child — 
agitation  is  so  bad  for  you  in  your  present  delicate  state.  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  leave  you,  if  you  are  not  more  tranquil;  I 
shall,  indeed,  my  love,  that's  a  dear  girl.  So,  sit  down,  and  we 
will  chat  a  little  together.  And  now,  my  dear  Isabel,"  conti- 
nued Lady  Anne,  when  her  daughter  had  recovered  her  com- 
posure, "  do  tell  me  what  this  quarrel  with  Glenville  is  really 
about.  I  have  read  and  heard  such  various  versions  of  it;  all 
agree,  however,  in  blaming  you  as  precipitate  and  exigeante. 
Now,  my  love,  let  me  hear  your  story." 

-Isabel  recapitulated  all  the  circumstances  of  which  the  reader 
is  already  in  possession.  Lady  Anne  listened  very  composedly 
to  the  recital,  and  when  it  was  ended,  asked, 


CANVASSING.  221 

"  And  is  that  all  you  have  to  complain  of,  my  level" 

"  Ain"  repeated  her  daughter. 

"My  dear  Isabel,  isGlenville  the  only  inconstant  husband  in 
the  worldl" 

"  My  dear  mother,  he  is  not;  but  he  is  the  only  man  who 
would  force  his  wife  to  receive  his " 

"Oh  nonsense,  my  dear,  why  could'nt  you  take  the  matter  as 
quietly  as  Lord  Seaton  did?" 

"Then,  in  my  place,  you  would  have  received  her!" 

"  Certainly, — sooner  let  her  in,  than  put  myself  out, — it  is  not 
too  late  yet.  Your  uncle  Rochford  has  sounded  Gienville,  and 
on  your  agreeing  to  receive  Lady  Seaton,  he  will  overlook  your 
hastiness,  and — " 

"Never!"  interrupted  Isabel, — "never — never, — will  I  live 
under  that  man's  roof  one  hour  longer  than  I  can  help; — he 
overlook  my  hastiness!"  she  exclaimed,  starting  up  in  indig- 
nation; "he,  the  tyrant  and  traitor! — the  smiling,  polite  tyrant, — 
and  base,  cold-blooded  traitor! — he  talk  to  me  of  forgiveness! 
Listen  to  me,  mother;  suppose  I  were  mean  enough,  nay,  and  vi- 
cious enough,  to  associate  with  Lady  Seaton;  suppose  I  would 
forget  and  forgive,  on  her  account,  aye,  and  on  account  of  other 
outrages  and  insults  heaped  upon  me,  and  boasted  of  to  my  very 
face,  for  tlie  last  three  years, — I  never  can  forget,  or  forgive,  his 
devilish  project  of  that  day;  when  he  goaded  me  to  madness, 
and  then  drove  me  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice, — God!  and  does 
my  mother  tell  me  I  should  live  with  a  demon  like  this?" 

"My  dear  Isabel,  you  agitate  me  as  well  as  yourself,"  re- 
plied the  tranquil  Lady  Anne,  "  by  all  this  vehemence.  I  give 
you  my  opinion,  and  that  of  every  body  who  has  heard  the 
story, — and  I  most  earnestly  recommend  you  to  consider  well 
what  you  are  about;  do  not,  I  implore  you,  give  way  to  temper, 
in  this  crisis  of  your  own  fate: — you  are  now  at  the  head  of  a 
splendid  fortune;  you  have  rank,  fashion,  beauty,  every  thing 
this  world  can  offer;  dearest  child,  thousands  envy  you  the 
brilliant  lot  you  are  about  to  cast  away  in  a  moment  of  caprice; 
my  sweet  Isabel,  be  persuaded  by  me!  what  will  a  few  hun- 
dreds a  year  be  to  you,  accustomed  to  thousands'! — and  the  world 
will  be  sure  to  turn  its  back  upon  you  when  you  are  only  poor 
Lady  Gienville.  Oh,  dear  child,  you  will  find  a  terrible  change 
in  people  then!" 

*'  Oh,  I  have  not  now  to  learn  what  the  world  is  made  of," 
answered  Isabel;  I  am  disgusted  with  it."  After  a  pause  she 
continued,  "  as  my  uncle  Rochford  offered  to  intercede  for  me  with 


222  CANVASSING. 

Lord  Glenville,  perhaps  he  would  have  no  objection  to  confer 
with  him  relative  to  a  respectable  maintenance.  I  ask  no  more, 
and  even  that  much  with  reluctance;  I  would  fain  owe  him  no- 
thing," she  added,  sighing. 

*'  And  where  do  you  propose  living]"  asked  the  mother. 

"  When  I  leave  my  husband's  house,  will  it  not  be  natural  to 
return  to  my  father's?"  asked  Isabel,  timidly. 

"  My  dear  Isabel,  if  your  husband  had  really  turned  you  out, 
your  father  house  would  open  to  receive  you,  but  as  you  volun- 
tarily quit  the  man  you  have  vowed  to  love,  and  honour,  I  can- 
not, according  to  my  conscience,  support  you  in  your  defiance 
of  duty  to  God,  and  respect  for  the  world.  I  never  will  receive 
again, — at  least  under  such  circumstances, — as  an  inmate,  a 
daughter  I  have  married  well." 

Isabel's  lip  quivered;  and  her  heart  sickened,  but  she  made 
no  reply.  Lady  Anne  soon  after  left  her  daughter,  to  return  to 
dinner  at  Lord  Rochford's. 

Lady  Glenville  took  up  the  pocket-bible  that  lay  near  her 
bed-side,  and  chanced  to  open  it  at  the  words, — "  When  my  fa- 
ther and  mother  forsake  me,  he  takeih  me  up." 

She  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 


A  travelling  carriage  stood,  some  days  afterwards,  before  the 
door  of  Glenville  House. 

A  lady,  very  pale  and  thin,  descended  the  steps,  supported 
by  two  gentlemen,  and  followed  by  a  female  attendant.  She 
was  handed  into  the  carriage  by  the  younger  gentleman. 

"  You  have  a  fine  day  for  your  journey,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,  very!"  she  replied. 

"  I  believe  all  is  now  ready,"  said  the  elder  gentleman. 
"  You  have  not  forgotten  anything,  Edwards'?" 

"  No,  my  Lord,  nothing." 

"  Then  you  had  better  set  oflf,  or  you  will  not  reach  Canter- 
bury till  late.  Good  bye,  my  dear  Isabel,"  and  he  touched 
coldly  the  pale  cheek  of  the  traveller. 


CANVASSING.  223 

"  Good  bye,  dear  uncle,  and  many  thanks  and  apologies  for 
the  trouble  you  have  taken  about  me." 

"  Glenville,"  she  added,  extending  a  hand  to  the  other  gen- 
tleman, "  1  wish  you  well,"  and  her  voice  slightly  faltered. 

He  smiled,  and  nodded.  The  footman,  after  having  closed 
the  carriage  door,  mounted  the  box,  the  coachman  touched  his 
horses,  and  the  carriage  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

The  travellers  slopped  for  the  night  at  Canterbury.  And 
Lady  Glenville  was  lying  on  the  sofa  near  the  fire,  gazing  on 
the  bright  flame,  in  one  of  those  fits  of  abstraction,  in  which  we 
have  before  surprised  her;  one  arm  still  fair,  hut  no  longer  round- 
ed, lying  listless  by  her  side,  and  the  other  holding  a  small  vol- 
ume, when  the  door  opened,  and  a  waiter  entered,  to  inform  her 
that  a  gentleman,  on  very  particular  business,  wished  to  see 
her.  Before  she  had  time  to  reply,  a  tall  man,  wrapped  in  a 
cloak,  stood  in  the  door-way.  Scarcely  looking  at  him,  she 
motioned  him  to  a  seat,  quietly  awaiting  an  explanation  for  this 
intrusion. 

"You  are  much  changed.  Lady  Glenville,"  the  stranger  ob- 
served. 

Isabel  started  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  and  now  gazed  in- 
tently on  the  speaker;  she  gasped  for  breath,  and  her  head 
drooped  on  her  shoulder.  When  restored  to  consciousness, 
the  first  object  which  met  her  eyes  was  that  of  a  well-known 
figure  kneeling  by  her  side.  At  first  her  gaze  was  vague  and 
bewildered,  like  that  of  one  awakened  suddenly  from  a  dream: 
then  it  became  earnest  and  searching.  "  Why  have  you  come 
here?"  she  asked. 

"To  see  you." 

"  To  see  me! — But  have  I  not  already  refused  to  be  seen  by 
youl  what  right  have  you,"  she  added,  making  an  effort  to  re- 
cover her  self-possession,  "  to  force  yourself  thus  into  my  pre- 
sencfel" 

"What  right  have  I?  the  right  of  affection,  Lady  Glenville. 
Isabel,  look  at  me!  am  I  not  changed  too, — aye,  as  much  as 
yourself,  since  last  we  metl  and  why  am  1  thus  changed]  be- 
cause of  my  love  for  you.  When  you  became  ill,  I  became  ill, — 
when  you  suffered,  I  suflTered  and  you  ask  me,  as  you  would  a 
common  acquaintance,  what  right  I  have  unbidden  to  enter  your 
presence — what  right!"  he  repeated  vehemently. 

"  Is  it  generous  to  pursue  me  thus"?  I  appeal  to  yourself,  Ti- 
verton, is  it]" 

"  Well,  why  did  you  refuse  to  see  me  before? — why,  tell  me 
whyl" 


224  CANVASSING. 

"Because  I  never  will  voluntarily  find  myself  a  second  time 
in  the  company  of  the  man  who  had  once  before  insulted  me." 

"Insulted  you,  Isabel!  but  we  will  not  dispute  about  the  jus- 
tice of  that  rather  harsh  term;  granted,  however,  that  I  had  in- 
sulted you  on  a  former  occasion,  you  had  not  to  fear  a  repetition 
of  the  offence,  as  I  had  previously  intimated  my  intention  of 
leaving  the  country,  perhaps  for  ever,  and  I  merely  requested 
permission  to  take  leave  of  you;  and  yet  that  humble  request 
you  refused,  and  you  tell  me  your  motive  for  so  doing  was  re- 
sentment for  my  previous  misconduct,  but,  Isabel,  that  was  not 
your  motive;  the  reason  you  refused  to  see  me,  and  the  only  one 
was,  because  you  doubted  yourself." 

Isabel's  hand  was  on  the  bell,  when  it  was  caught  by  Lord 
Tiverton.  "  You  will  only  make  a  scene,  Lady  Glenville,  for 
I  warn  you  that  the  first  man  who  enters  the  room  I  will  thrust 
out  of  it.  I  am  determined  you  shall  hear  me,  and  then  a  word 
from  your  lips  will  be  suflScient  to  dismiss  me:  was  it  not  so 
before]  your  womanly  pride  and  dignity  are  up  in  arms, — I 
know  they  are,  against  my  audacity  for  presuming  to  think, 
much  less  to  say,  that  you  do  not  abhor  me  as  you  try  to  per- 
suade me  and  yourself  that  you  do.  It  might,  perhaps,  have 
been  better  policy  to  have  appeared  a  more  humble  adorer;  but 
I  wish  to  lay  bare  my  whole  heart  to  you,  defects  and  all,  and 
then,  Isabel,  decide  whether  that  heart  deserves  to  be  cherished, 
or  trampled  on!  In  one  respect,  at  least,  you  will  allow,  I  dif- 
fer from  the  many  admirers  by  whom,  during  your  married  life, 
you  have  been  surrounded;  I  had  loved,  and  sought  you,  as  Isa- 
bel Wilmot;  I  did  not  wait  to  see  you  the  property  of  another, 
to  discern  your  merit.  Others  bowed  down  before  Lady  Glen- 
ville, the  idol  of  fashion;  but  I  loved  the  woman  in  which  I  dis- 
covered those  qualities  now  are  so  eagerly  proclaimed  by  all, 
when  she  was  as  yet  but  a  young  aspirant  for  notice.  I  saw 
where,  and  how,  and  why,  she  differed  from  the  throng  of  bold 
or  vapid  fashionable  accomplished  candidates  for  brilliant  es- 
tablishments, which  thronged  the  ball  and  concert-rooms.  I 
saw,  and  loved,  the  simplicity,  and  yet  acuteness,  of  her  mind, 
the  truth,  the  affection,  the  spirited,  yet  gentle  nature, — her  po- 
lished vivacity,  her  deeply  feeling  heart.  I  spoke  to  her  of  a 
retirement  in  a  remote,  but  beautiful  part  of  England,  of  the  hap- 
piness and  utility  of  a  country  life;  of  the  interest  of  a  home, 
where  affection  and  intelligence  preside, — but  Isabel,  your 
mother  had  already  spoiled  the  fair  materials  entrusted  to  her; 
worldliness  had  even  then  crept  into  that  young  heart,  and  sti- 
fled its  generous  impulses.     Shame!  said  I  to  myself,  on  the 


CANVASSING.  225 

woman  who  rejects  a  true  love,  because  it  comes  not  encircled 
in  a  coronet,  or  shines  not  with  the  tinsel  of  fashion!  From 
that  hour  I  became  a  changed  man,  dissipated,  almost  heartless. 
1  went  abroad  with  my  regiment;  years  passed  away;  I  heard  of 
your  marriage  with  Warringdon,  and  I  confess,  lieard  it  with 
perfect  indifference; — so,  thought  I,  she  has  at  length  attained 
the  object  of  her  ambition. 

"  Not  very  long  afterwards,  I  unexpectedly  succeeded  to  a 
title,  and  returned  to  England.  I  saw  that  you  devotedly  loved 
your  husband,  and  you  began  to  rise  in  my  estimation,  but  I 
also  very  soon  perceived  that  you  were  neglected  by  him,  and 
in  consequence  unhappy.  You  then  became  an  object  of  un- 
worthy speculation  to  others;  and  I  admired  the  easy  contempt 
with  which  you  treated  their  pretensions, — I  insensibly  fell  back 
on  my  former  feelings  for  you,  but  I  was  guarded  in  the  ex- 
pression of  them;  you  will  admit  that  I  never  passed  the  pre- 
scribed bounds,  till  the  day  Glenville  left  us  together.  When 
he  banished  you  from  his  house,  I  offered  you  mine.  I  offered 
you  myself  too,  my  fortune,  and  my  name;  you  rejected  all,  and 
dismissed  me  from  your  presence,  and  then,  Isabel,  I  looked 
upon  you  not  merely  as  the  most  engaging  woman  I  had  ever 
met,  but  as  one  to  be  worshipped  for  the  energy  of  character 
which,  in  the  midst  of  sorrow  and  insult,  could  remain  firm  to 
the  stern  command  of  duty,  and  could  courageously  spurn  the 
tempter,  though  he  came  in  the  form  of  the  man  you  love,  for  I 
knew  you  did  love  me.  1  heard  that  you  were  ill,  dangerously 
ill;  in  agony,  I  waited  the  result, — you  recovered, — I  begged  to 
see  you — and  you  refused;  I  ascertained  the  day  of  your  de- 
parture for  Dover,  and  I  set  off,  and  awaited  your  arrival  in  this 
town;" — he  paused. 

"  And  what  good  do  you  propose  either  to  me  or  to  yourself, 
by  this  step]"  asked  Lady  Glenville. 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Isabel,  when  first  I  declared  my 
love,  you  did  well  to  reject  it;  for  it  was  not  then  perfectly  wor- 
thy of  you;  besides,  you  were  not  then  assured  of  its  sincerity. 
And  again,  there  still  remained  a  hope  of  accommodation  with 
your  husband;  you  had  still  a  mother,  relations,  friends,  acquain- 
tances,— you  had  much,  much  to  give  up;  but  now  you  are  se- 
parated from  your  husband;  you  are  censured  by  your  friends, 
deserted  by  your  acquaintances,  abandoned  even  by  your  own 
mother.  You  are  going  abroad  on  an  income  of  six  hundred  a 
year,  alone;  you  have  no  child,  or  interest  in  life. 

"  Isabel,  what  is  the  world,  or  the  world's  laws  to  youl  Have 


226  CANVASSlNCt. 

you  not  already  known  and  felt  its  nothingness?  0(  all  those 
who  fluttered  about  you,  in  the  sunshine  of  your  existence,  who 
is  there  that  comes  to  cheer  you  now,  or  bring  hope  and  conso- 
lation? the  brilliant  Lady  Glenville  is  forgotten  by  all  but  one, 
the  man  who  loved  her  even  in  her  childhood,  seven  years  ago: 
ought  not  that  man  to  be  more  to  you,  than  a  heartless,  worthless 
world;  ought  he  not,  Isabel?" 

"  Yes!  more,  much  more  than  this  world,  with  all  its  honours, 
and  all  its  splendors,  would  you  be  to  me,  if  this  world  were  all 
that  stood  between  us;- — but  there  is  one  thing  dearer  to  me 
than  the  world's  opinion,  my  oven  self-respect,  and  there  is  one 
Being  dearer  to  me  than  you, — and  that  being  is  my  God.  Oh, 
had  1  known  him  earlier,  I  should  have  been  spared  all  I  suffer 
at  this  moment,  for  the  feelings  I  now  sacrifice  in  obedience  to 
his  will,  in  that  case,  never  could  have  arisen,  or  at  least,  never 
have  abided  in  my  heart." 

"  Do  you  then  reject  my  love,  my  sincere,  devoted,  unchanged, 
and  unchangeable  love?  do  you  indeed  prefer  going  alone  through 
the  world,  Isabel?  and  is  the  wretchedness  I  shall  endure, 
nothing  to  you,  Isabel, — think  again!  and  well,  before  you  doom 
me  and  yourself  to  a  life  of  misery." 

"  Tiverton,  have  you  ever  read  this  book?"  she  asked,  hand- 
ing him  the  little  volume  that  lay  by  her. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have." 

"  Well,  when  you  have  read  it,  and  carefully  read  it,  and  after 
you  have  prayed  over  it,  come  to  me  again  and  ask  why  I  doom 
you  and  myself  to  a  life  of  misery.  Tiverton;  if  you  had  read 
that  book,  you  would  not  have  come  as  a  tempter  to  the  afflicted. 
Go  travel,  as  you  propose;  think,  and  above  all,  pray,  and  then 
return  to  your  country,  and  marry;"  her  voice  here  faltered  for 
a  moment,  but  she  recovered  her  composure  and  proceeded. 
"  But  let  not  your  wife  be  the  daughter  of  a  worldly  mother." 

"  And  now,"  she  added,  holding  out  her  hand,  "  I  will  bid 
you  farewell." 

But  he  still  lingered. 

"  Nay,  'tis  useless,  Tiverton,  my  mind  is  made  up!  God  bless 
you,  and  forget  me." 

"Would  I  could!"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  hoarse  from  emo- 
tion,— "  but  that  can  never  be! — No,  I  love  you  as  I  shall  never 
love  again;  I  honour  you  as  I  never  honoured  before!  No,  Isa- 
bel, I  can  never  forget  you!" 

He  pulled  his  hat  over  his  brows,  and  left  the  room. 

Isabel  sank  back  on  the  sofa,  v/here  she  lay  some  time  so 


1 


CANVASSING.  227 

pale  and  motionless,  one  might  have  almost  doubted  that  she 
breathed,  were  it  not  for  the  low  stifled  sob,  which  at  intervals 
escaped  her. 

The  next  day,  Lady  Glenville  had  a  relapse,  and  was  unable 
to  proceed  on  her  journey. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


And  now  will  the  reader  travel  with  us  to  Paris,  and,  having 
been  set  down  in  the  Rue  Castilione,  enter  a  premiere  lighted 
up,  and  filled  with  company^  composed  of  all  that  is  distin- 
guished by  rank  or  talent,  among  the  various  nations  of  Europe; 
— poets,  politicians,  artists,  mathematicians,  generals,  philoso- 
phers, and  foreign  ambassadors,  he  will  there  find  assembled. 
Nor  is  the  attraction  of  beauty  wanting  to  complete  the  anima- 
tion and  embellishment  of  the  rooms;  and  each  lady  has  her 
little  circle  of  admirers;  but  the  largest  group  of  this  kind  is, 
strange  to  say,  formed  round  the  plainest  woman  of  the  compa- 
ny;— it  is  fair  to  state,  however,  that  she  is  also  the  hostess. 

Almost  every  sentence  she  utters  is  followed  by  a  laugh,  or 
a  bravo!  from  the  gentlemen  by  whom  she  is  surrounded;  as 
she  turns  from  the  Frenchman  to  the  Italian,  from  the  Spaniard 
to  the  German,  and  addresses  to  each,  in  his  own  language,  a 
few  words,  which  are  either  sportive,  profound,  or  enthusiastic 
according  to  the  pursuit  and  turn  of  mind  of  her  auditor;  and 
yet,  while  charming  those  around  her  by  her  wit,  or  her  elo- 
quence, there  is  in  her  manner,  at  least,  no  attempt  at  display, 
no  consciousness  of  power.  She  is  brilliant,  indeed,  because 
she  cannot  be  otherwise;  and  would  have  been  equally  so  by 
her  own  fire-side. 

A  gentleman,  who  had  just  entered  the  room,  advanced  to- 
wards her. 

"  Well?  have  you  found  him?"  the  lady  asked,  in  a  low,  hur- 
ried tone. 

"  Yes!  after  a  long  search,  I  have  at  length  traced  him  to  a 
cafe,  in  the  Palais  Royal,  where,  for  the  last  three  days  and 
nights,  he  has  been  drinking  and  gambling  with  a  set  of  low 
English  blacklegs.  I  represented  to  him  the  cruelty  of  leaving 
home,  for  days,  without  having  previously  announced  to  his 
17 


228  CANVASSING. 

wife  his  intention  of  absenting  himself;  and  I  tried  to  persuade 
him  to  return  with  me,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say,  could  not  suc- 
ceed." 

"  And  what  motive  did  he  givel  what  answer?"  inquired  the 
lady. 

"  Oh!  the  usual  answer  to  all  argument,  all  entreaty! — a 
laugh." 

The  lady  bit  her  lips,  and  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment, 
but  only  for  a  moment;  she  quickly  resumed  her  usual  careless- 
ness of  demeanor.  "Come,  Sir  Robert,  give  me  your  arm  into 
the  music  room." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  a  voice  of  extraordinary  power 
and  compass,  of  thrilling  expression,  and  clear  and  rapid  exe- 
cution, filled  the  apartments,  and  called  forth  on  every  side 
bursts  of  applause,  even  from  professors  of  the  art. 

"  What  an  uncommonly  clever  woman  that  is!" — observed  a 
young  man,  to  the  gentleman  that  the  lady  of  the  house  had 
called  Sir  Robert. — "  But  what'is  the  reason,  Turner,  that  Bar- 
ham  never  appears  at  his  wife's  parties] — it  looks  odd,  people 
say  they  don't  live  well  together;  that  he  thinks  her  ugly,  and 
she  thinks  him  silly;  but  nobody  that  I  know  has  ever  seen  him. 
I  understand  he  keeps  odd  company;  your  father  was  his  guar- 
dian, was  he  not]" 

Sir  Robert  bowed. 

*'  Well,  you  ought,  in  that  case,  to  be  able  to  tell  something 
about  him] — Is  he  really  a  fool]" 

"  His  wife  has  certainly  somewhat  the  advantage  of  him  in 
point  of  intellect,"  answered  Sir  Robert,  dryly. 

"I  admire  your  caution.  Turner,"  said  his  companion,  smi- 
ling.   "  Singular,  too,  considering  your  position  in  the  menage,'''' 

"  How^  do  you  mean]"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

His  companion  again  smiled.  "  So  you  have  never  heard 
what  people  say  of  yourself,  and  the  English  Corinne  here]  of 
the  brilliant  wife  and  accomplished  friend  of  poor  silly  Barham]" 

Sir  Robert  Turner  fixed  his  eyes  steadily  on  the  speaker. 

"There  is  one  subject,  upon  which  I  never  permit  a  jest,  and 
that  is,  when  a  lady  is  concerned.  The  first  person,  therefore, 
that  you  hear  talking  of  Mrs.  Barham,  in  any  way  but  that  of 
admiration  and  respect,  refer  him  to  me,"  and  he  immediately 
turned  the  conversation. 

No  one,  throughout  the  evening,  could  have  guessed  from 
Mrs.  Barham's  manner,  as  she  sang,  danced,  or  talked,  that 
her  spirits  were  disturbed. 

At  length,  much  to  the  regret  of  all  but  the  lady  herself,  her 


CANVASSING.  229 

rooms  began  to  thin,  and  finally,  of  all  the  guests,  none  but  Sir 
Robert  remained. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  the  cafe,  where  he  is?"  she  ab- 
ruptly asked; — "I  will  speak  with  him  myself." 

Turner,  greatly  surprized,  endeavoured  to  dissuade  her, — but 
she  insisted,  and  accordingly  they  drove  to  the  cafe. — He 
alighted,  and  entered  the  house,  where,  after  remaining  about 
half  an  hour,  he  returned  to  the  carriage,  without  Barham. 

"  I  cannot  induce  him  to  come  to  you; — I  fear  he  is  utterly 
lost,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  sorrow. 

Maria  jumped  out  of  the  carriage. 

"  Show  me  the  way  to  the  room  where  he  is,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly. 

"  My  dear  Madam,  you  are  not  surely  going  among  those  fel- 
lows!    It  is  not  a  scene  fit  for  a  lady." 

"  The  worse  they  are,  the  greater  the  necessity  of  getting  him 
away  from  them,"  she  replied. 

"But  it  will  be  in  vain;  nothing  you  can  say  will  make  the 
slightest  impression  on  him;  pray  do  not  think  of  exposing  your 
feelings  to  this  useless  travail;  he  has  become  quite  implacable 
of  late." 

But  Mrs.  Barham  insisted,  and  he  led  the  way;  having  open- 
ed the  door  of  the  apartment  pointed  out  to  her,  she  stood  a  mo- 
ment on  the  threshold,  to  try  and  distinguish  her  husband 
among  the  group  of  coarse,  slang-looking  men,  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded.  His  face  was  flushed,  and  his  whole  manner 
that  of  a  low,  foolish  profligate,  playing,  and  losing,  and  alter- 
nately laughing  and  swearing  vehemently  at  his  ill  fortune. 

Mrs.  Barham  had  approached  near  enough  to  touch  her  hus- 
band's elbow,  before  he  was  aware  of  her  entrance,  so  com- 
pletely absorbed  was  he  by  what  was  passing  at  the  table. 

He  turned  suddenly  round,  "  Ah,  is  that  you]  What  brings 
you  here]" 

"  Come  with  me,  for  a  moment,  to  the  door,"  she  replied.  *'  I 
wish  to  speak  a  few  words  with  you." 

"Well,  don't  keep  me  long,  then,  for  I  am  very  busy  just 
row,"  he  said,  following  his  wife  out  of  the  room. 

"  Barham,  why  have  you  not  come  home  for  three  days?" 

"  Because  I  did  not  choose  it,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  a  mind 
for  some  fun; — do  you  think  I  am  going  to  ask  your  leave,  when- 
ever I  may  like  to  have  a  lark]" 

"  Why  not  at  least  tell  me  where  you  could  be  found]  Why 
leave  for  days,  uncertain  what  had  become  of  you]" 

"  And  if  I  had,  Turner  would  have  been  after  me,  dogging 


230  CANVASSING. 

me  every  place  I  went.  He  thinks,  because  his  old  father  kept 
me  in  leading  strings  once  upon  a  time,  that  I  am  going  to  let 
him  do  the  same  now,  but  he  will  find  himself  mistaken." 

"  My  dear  Barham,  I  do  not  want  to  keep  you  in  leading 
strings,  I  assure  you,"  observed  Turner  quietly.  "  I  merely 
offer  you  advice  which  you  are  at  liberty,  of  course,  to  accept  or 
reject,  as  j'ou  please;  but  which,  for  the  sake  of  the  old  friend- 
ship subsisting;  between  our  families,  however  ungraciously 
you  may  receive  it,  I  shall  continue  to  offer.  I  can  have  no 
object  in  view  but  your  own  welfare." 

"Aye,  aye,  I  believe  as  much  of  that  as  I  like,"  replied  Bar- 
ham,  with  a  loud  laugh;  "that  is  always  your  gammon;  but  I 
am  not  such  a  spoony  as  you  take  me  for." 

Turner  siirugged  his  shoulders  contemptuously.  "Well,  my 
good  fellow,  though  you  will  not  listen  to  my  advice,  will  you 
listen  to  your  wife]" 

"  Thank  you!  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  Jerry-Sneak  of  my- 
self, I  can  tell  you  that  for  your  comfort.  No,  no,  I  am  my  own 
masier,  and  I'll  do  as  1  like;  so  let  her  keep  her  advice  for  some- 
body who  wants  it.  At  Cralcourt  she  badgered  me  because  1  had 
a  few  running  horses,  and  betted  a  little;  and  because  I  had 
hounds,  and  used  to  like  a  bit  of  fun  with  my  grooms  and  hunts- 
men; and  now  I  am  here,  she  keeps  poking  at  me,  because  I  dine 
with  a  few  friends.  Ever  since  1  married,  it  has  been  the  same 
thing;  she  is  always  finding  fault,  whatever  I  do;  and  for  that 
matter,  she  has  no  right  to  do  so — " 

"  No]  has  not  a  wife  a  right  to  remonstrate  with  a  husband!" 
asked  ]\Irs.  Barham. 

"Yes,  if  a  man  marries  out  of  his  own  head;  it  is  all  very 
well  then.  One  may  hear  a  little  teazing,  when  one  has  brought 
a  trouble  upon  oneself — that  is  all  fair  enough." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Barham]  I  don't  understand  you,"  said 
Turner. 

"  Ah,  she  understands  me,"  he  replied,  doggedly. 

Turner  glanced  at  Maria. 

Could  the  woman  he  now  saw  standing  humiliated,  as  a  wife, 
before  a  drunken  fool,  be  the  same  brilliant,  animated,  self-pos- 
sessed, intellectual  creature,  that  had  dazzled  a  circle  of  accom- 
plished judges] 

"  My  God!  what  a  fate  for  such  a  being!"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  observed  her  colour  rise,  at  her  husband's  taunt.  Maria 
had,  however,  too  much  habitual  command  over  her  feelings,  to 
notice  the  speech. 


CANVASSING.  231 

"  Well,  my  dear  Barham,"  said  she,  "  I  have  listened  to  you; 
will  you  now  attend  to  meV 

"  Yes;  but  don't  make  a  long  preachment  of  it,  for  I  want  to 
go  back  to  my  friends." 

"  You  accuse  me  of  badgering  you,"  Mrs.  Barham  continued, 
"but  how  was  that]  have  I  ever  used  an  unkind  word,  or  even 
an  impatient  one"?     Have  I,  Barham]" 

"I  don't  say  you  have;  but  you  were  always  reminding  me 
that  I  ought  not  to  do  this,  that,  or  the  other;  advising,  ad- 
vising, from  morning  till  night,  instead  of  making  me  laugh,  as 
you  used  to  do.  I  did  not  marry  to  go  to  school,  you  may  be 
sure.  You  were  always  telling  me  what  a  pleasant  house  you 
would  keep,  if  I  would  but  come  to  Paris; — well,  I  did,  and  you 
crammed  it  with  clever  people,  and  then  wonder  I  don't  like 
to  stay  at  home." 

"  Well,  dear  Barham,  then  there  shall  be  no  more  clever 
people  at  the  house,  if  they  keep  you  away  from  it.  Can  I  say 
more  than  that?  and,  in  turn,  all  I  request  of  you  is,  merely 
this; — to  ask  to  your  house,  not  to  a  cafe,  whatever  company 
you  please:  or,  at  least,  to  tell  me,  when  you  leave  home,  how 
long  you  intend  remaining  absent.     Is  that  fair,  or  not]" 

"  I  told  you  before,  I  have  a  mind  for  fun,  sometimes,"  re- 
plied Barham. 

"  W^ell,  and  cannot  you  have  the  fun  at  homel"  inquired  his 
wife. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  can't: — what  fun  can  one  have  with  a  wife  stuck 
up  near  one.  Oh,  no;  you  go  your  way,  and  I  go  mine,  and  we 
shall  always  agree  very  well." 

"  But,  Barham,  your  way  is  leading  you,  fast  and  sure,  to 
ruin.  You  cannot  have  fun  without  money, — what  will  you  do 
when  it  is  all  spent?"  asked  Maria. 

"  Oh,  that  time  is  a  good  way  off,  yet,"  he  replied  laughing. 

"  Not  so  distant  as  you  think,"  continued  his  wife.  "  Remem- 
ber what  you  owed  before  you  left  England,  a/id  how  much  you 
are  losing  every  night  at  play,  and " 

"  Oh  d n  it!  there  you  are,  again,  at  the  old  story!"  he  ex- 
claimed bursting  impatiently  from  her  and  returning  to  his 
party. 

"  Oh,  why  did  I  marry  a  fool?"  exclaimed  Maria,  throwing 
herself  into  the  carriage.  "  My  God!  to  think  of  being  tied  for 
life  to  a  creature  like  that!  a  creature  that  cannot  be  made  even 
to  feel  for  himself!  and  /  to  be  obliged  to  bend  low  to  him.'  to 
be  obliged  to  suppress  my  indignation  at  his  insults,  and  my 
X7* 


232  CANVASSING. 

contempt  at  his  folly,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  keep  him  within 
bounds?     My  unfortunate  child!  what  is  to  become  of  herl" 

"  What  other  wotnan  could  have  sustained  herself  at  alt, 
under  such  a  fatel"  asked  Sir  Robert; — "  liow  I  do  respect  and 
admire  you." 

"Respect  and  admire!"  Maria  repeated  with  bitterness: 
"  Oh,  no,  you  despise  me; — you  woulfl  despise  the  woman  who 
merely  consented  to  marry  a  fool  because  he  was  rich;  how 
much  more  must  you  despise  her  who  planned  and  plotted  to 
marry  him!  Barham  spake  but  the  truth  when  he  said  he 
never  wanted  to  marry  me.  I  deserved  the  taunt,  and,  therefore, 
I  was  obliged  to  bear  it  patiently,  humbly.  Ah!  little  does 
the  world  know,  while  I  talk  and  laugh,  how  1  writhe  under 
the  deep,  deep  humiliation,  the  unutterable  and  innumerable 
mortifications  of  my  lot!  Insulted  by  a  creature  I  despise;  mar- 
ried to  a  man  I  am  ashamed  to  acknowledge!  You  will  won- 
der, perhaps,  why  I  go  into  the  world  at  all,  under  such  circum- 
stances: but  I  should  lose  my  senses  if  I  did  not,  sometimes, 
force  my  thoughts  into  another  direction.  Besides,  when  in 
society,  such  as  that  of  to-night,  I  forget  that  I  am  Barbara's 
wife;  I  feel  a  momentary  triumph  in  the  mind,  which  enables  me 
to  rise  above  the  degradation, — the  contemptible  position  that, 
at  other  times,  bows  down  my  spirit  to  the  earth.  And,  then, 
the  remorse  I  feel!  the  remorse,  when  I  think  that,  had  Barham 
married  some  pretty  girl  he  liked,  he  might  have  turned  out  dif- 
ferently: to  think  that  I  have  the  wreck  of  his  fate  to  answer 
for,  as  well  as  my  own  miserable  accountability!" 

"And  is  this  the  woman  the  world  represents  as  unfeeling"?'* 
exclaimed  her  companion,  half  aloud. 

"  I  cannot  wonder  that  it  should,"  observed  Maria,  "  for  I 
long  thought  that  I  was  so  myself." 

"Butl  never  did,"  said  Turner;  "I  judged  more  favourably, 
and,  as  it  has  proved,  more  correctly,  of  yon,  than  either  your- 
self or  the  world'  had  done.  I  early  saw  that  your  nature  had 
been  disturbed,  and  put  out  of  its  place ;  that  you  had  been  so 
often  told  you  had  no  sensibility,  and  had  been  so  carefully  in- 
structed to  glory  in  your  callousness,  as  a  proof  of  the  superior- 
ity of  your  understanding,  that  you  had,  at  length,  become  tem- 
porarily, owing  to  your  tuition^' the  worldly-hardened  character 
your  teachers  persuaded  you  that  you  were,  from  origitial  dis-» 
position.  But  I  could  not  believe  that  one,  so  beloved  in  her 
neighbourhood,  of  whom  I  heard  so  many  acts  of  charity,  kind- 
ness, and  generosity,  could  be  wanting,  essentially,  in  a  feeling 
heart.     No,  I  could  never  believe  that  possible,  and  I  was  right. 


CANVASSING.  233 

I  never  could  believe  that  God  would  have  given  such  an  intel- 
lect without  giving  a  heart  too;  you  were  not  merely  intended 
to  dazzle,  but  to  bless  also;  you  were  intended  for  a  higher  and 
a  better  vocation  than  the  one  allotted  you  by  your  mother." 

"  And  yet,  perhaps,  she  was  not  so  much  to  blame,  after  all," 
observed  Maria,  "according  to  the  opinions  she  held;  for,  in- 
tent as  she  was  upon  marrying  her  daughters  well,  and  seeing 
me  unattractive  in  person,  and,  therefore,  unlikely  to  succeed, 
as  it  is  called,  unless  pushed  forward,  she  found  herself  neces- 
sarily compelled*to  stifle  my  sensibility,  lest  it  should  interfere 
with  my  judgment,  and  prevent  my  taking  proper  measures  to 
secure  a  good  '  establishment.'  " 

"  And  so  you  married  Barham  because  your  mother  })ersua- 
ded  you  that  you  were  not  a  woman  to  be  loved]  My  God!  if 
we  had  but  met  sooner!"  he  continued,  seemingly  affected. 

The  carriage  just  then  stopped  at  the  doer  of  her  house,  and 
Mrs.  Barham  also  appeared  agitated. 

"I  over-heard  your  exclamation,"  she  said. 

"  And  it  has  offended  you]"  he  asked. 

"  I  will  be  candid  with  you  in  all  tilings; — no,  it  has  not  of- 
fended, but  it  has  grieved  me,  because  I  must  no  longer  meet 
you  as  I  have  done." 

"  Forget  what  I  said, — it  escaped  me  unintentionally,  I  so- 
lemnly assure  you, — forget,"  replied  Turner. 

"I  cannot  forgt-t  any  thing  you  ever  said.  Turner,"  replied 
Maria;  "besides,  I  have  been  already  informed  that  we  are 
commented  on;  yet,  while  I  felt  there  existed  no  grounds  for 
censure,  I  was  reluctant  to  give  up. the  Society  of  a  tried  and 
valued  friend,  because  fools  talked,  and  I  therefore  deferred, 
from  day  to  day,  coming  to  a  decision.  I  have  always  had  too 
little  respect  for  the  opinion  of  others,  but — " 

"But,"  interrupted  Turner,  "  if  you  saw  no  necessity  this 
morning  for  our  separation,  why  should  any  thing  I  have  said 
to-night  cause  you  to  alter  your  opinion]  You  do  not  judge  of 
me  as  a  mere  man  of  the  world,  1  hope,  nor  of  yourself  as  a 
giddy  woman ;  why  ma}'  we  not  meet  as  heretofore,  I  pro- 
mising nevet  again  to  express  a  vain,  and,  what  is  worse,  a  cri- 
minal regret,  with  regard  to  the  past,  and  you  undertaking  to 
forgive  and  forget  what  has  been  said]  I  do  not  ask  to  be  al- 
lowed to  come  as  often  to  your  house  as  fonnerly,  for  I  am  aware 
my  visits  have  been  remarked,  and  I  had  intended,  in  conse- 
quence, withdrawing  myself,  in  a  degree,  from  your  society;— 
you  will  allow  me,  however,  will  you  not,  occasionally,  to  see 


234  CANVASSING. 

"  Better  not,  for  some  time,  at  least,"  replied  Maria.  "  It  is 
not  that  I  think  so  badly  of  you,  or  so  meanly  of  myself,  as  to 
fear  you;  but  it  subjects  to  a  strong  and  disadvantageous  con- 
trast one  that  I  am  bound,  as  much  as  possible,  to  regard,  and 
will  make  my  duty  still  more  irksome  than  it  is.  I  shall  leave 
Paris  for  a  iew  weeks;  meantime,  persuade,  if  you  can,  poor 
Barham  to  play  and  drink  less,  and,  when  1  return,  you  will 
probably  be  setting  out  for  England; — Good  night,  and  God 
bless  you,  till  we  meet  again." 

Turner  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  *the  usually  calm 
expression  of  his  countenance  became  disturbed.  "  You  are 
right,"  he  said,  at  length,  and  turned  from  the  door. 

Maria  hurried  up  stairs  to  her  own  room,  and  thence  to  an 
adjoining  apartment.  She  noiselessly  approached  a  bed,  where 
a  child  lay  asleep,  and  wluch  was  calling,  in  unconscious  fond- 
ness, through  its  slumbers,  on  its  mother. 

"  My  darling!"  she  exclaimed  passionately,  "  your  mother 
is  near  yon.  Pure,  innocent  creature!"  she  continued,  kneeling 
by  the  bed-side,  while  tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  "  you 
first  taught  me  that  I  had  a  heart!  my  child!  my  all,  in  this 
world!  the  only  being  that  loves  me,  and  that  I  love,  except 
,  but  hush,  I  must  not  even  think  of  him,  here,  by  her  bed- 
side. And  yet,"  she  continued,  unwittingly  pursuing  the  very 
train  of  thought  she  had,  the  instant  before,  condemned,  "is  it 
my  fault,  if  1  love  him?  against  a  brilliant,  or  insinuating  man 
of  the  world,  I  should  have  been  upon  my  guard;  but  how  could 
I  be  prepared  for  the  gradual,  scarcely  perceptible,  influence  of 
active,  undeviating,  intelligent  goodness;  of  generosity,  disinte- 
restedness, unbounded,  and  unostentatious  benevolencel  how 
CQuld  I  imagine  that  there  was  sin,  or  danger,  in  esteeming  one, 
whom  his  equals  honoured,  and  the  poor  adoredl  And  the  first 
prayer  that  I  ever  uttered  from  the  heart,  was  it  not  at  his  sug- 
gestion, when  my  child  was  ill?  Oh,  if  1  had  been  his  wife! 
Three  months  after  I  quitted  Ireland,  with  Barham,  he  came 
into  our  neighbourhood! — but  no,  the  woman  who  could  seU 
herself  for  gold  was  not  worthy  of  a  better  fate!  I  do  nov  coin^ 
plain,— -I  deserve  it  all,  and  more," 


CHAPTER  XX. 


A  MONTH  passed,  and  Mrs.  Barham  returned  from  her  tour. — 
Several  letters  had  arrived  during  the  interval,  but  which  had 
not  been  forwarded,  from  uncertainty  as  to  her  address,  in  her 
movements  from  place  to  place.  Among  those  now  laid  before 
her  was  one  of  an  old  date  from  her  mother,  informing  her  of 
Isabel's  quarrel  with  her  husband,  and  of  her  approaching  se- 
paration; throwing  the  whole  blame,  as  was  to  be  expected 
from  her  tone  with  Lady  Glenville  herself,  on  her  daughter,  an- 
nouncing her  firm  determination  of  leaving  her,  for  the  future, 
to  her  whims  and  absurdities,  and  mentioning  her  daughter's 
appeal  to  her  protection,  and  her  refusal. 

*' She  shall  have  mine,  then!"  exclaimed  Maria.  "Isabel, 
you  wronged  your  sister,  when  you  did  not  write  to  tell  her 
that  you  wanted  a  home; — yes,  for,  even  in  my  most  selfish  and 
hardened  days,  I  should  not  have  given  you  the  answer  your 
mother  gave.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  received  this  letter  before; 
Isabel  will  think  me  so  barbarous  never  to  have  taken  any  notice 
of  her  all  this  time;  and  now  where  will  a  letter  reach  her]  for, 
according  to  the  date  of  my  mother's  communication,  she  must 
have  already  left  Glenville  House, — and  ill  too, — poor  Isabel!" 
and  she  was  sitting  down  to  write  to  her  sister,  under  cover  to 
Lady  Anne,  when  a  letter,  just  come  by  the  post,  was  handed 
her.  It  was  from  Edwards,  Lady  Glenville's  woman,  inform- 
ing her  of  her  sister's  illness  at  Canterbury,  and  that  her  Lady 
having  strictly  forbidden  her  communicating  the  intelligence  to 
her  mother,  she  dared  not  disobey  her  commands;  although 
very  uneasy  at  so  heavy  a  responsibility  resting  upon  herself 
alone:  she  therefore  took  the  liberty  of  letting  Mrs.  Barham 
know  Lady  Glenville's  dangerous  state,  and  begging  her  in- 
structions how  to  act. 

That  evening  Maria  and  her  little  girl  were  oa  the  road  to 
England. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  precautions  which  tenderness  could 
suggest,  to  prepare  Lady  Glenville  for  a  meeting  with  her  sis- 
ter, the  agitation  had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  her. 

"  You  will  live  with  me,  will  you  not?  my  own  dear  Isabel?" 

Lady  Glenville  leaned  her  head  on  her  sister's  bosom,  and 
for  some  moments  neither  of  them  spoke. 


236  CANVASSING. 

"  Yes!"  Isabel  replied  at  length,  "  if  I  live  it  shall  be  with 
you,  Maria.  1  wish  I  had  known  you  sooner  and  better.  I 
should  not  have  been  thrown  on  the  dangerous  sympathy  of 
another.     1  never  did  you  justice,  Maria!" 

"  A  great  change  has  come  over  me,"  said  Maria,  "  since  we 
were  girls  together,  I  have  learned  to  feel — the  great  barrier 
that  used  to  separate  our  minds  is  removed.  My  character  has 
been  softened,  and  your's  strengthened,  by  the  few  years  of  our 
married  lives.  We  can  now  be,  what  we  never  were  before, — 
sisters  in  heart!  counselling,  sympathizing  friends! — On  one 
subject  only  we  will  never  speak,  because  it  is  one  we  must  not 
even  think  upon." 

"  True!"  replied  Isabel.  "  But  to  keep  a  constant  and  ef- 
fectual watch  over  our  thoughts,  we  shall  need  assistance.  Do 
you  ever  pray,  Maria?" 

"  No,  but  I  will;  "her  sister  answered,  pressing  her  hand. 

"  Your  child  shall  be  mine;  we  will  educate  her  together; 
and  God  grant  she  may  have  a  happier  fate  than  either  of  her 
mothers!"  said  Isabel,  throwing  her  arms  around  her  adopted 
child. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


We  will  now  pass  over  five  years,  and  beg  the  reader  to  return 
again  to  Wilmot  Castle.  Lady  Anne  and  her  husband  are  sit- 
ting together. 

"  Now,  is  not  that  ridiculous?  Maria,  of  all  people  upon 
earth,  to  set  up  for  sentiment!  She  marries  a  man  she  cares  no- 
thing about,  because,  he  has  a  good  fortune.  Well,  he  loves 
his  fortune — his  estate  is  sold — he  goes  mad  out  of  a  fit  of 
drunkenness,  and  the  world  won't  persuade  her  to  send  hinti  at 
once,  quietly,  to  a  proper  place  of  confinement.  '  He  would  be 
treated  cruelly,'  she  says,  so  she  insists  on  taking  care  of  him 
herself.  To  talk  in  that  way,  she  must  be  as  mad  as  he  is.  I 
have  not  patience  with  such  nonsense — is  it  not  provoking, 
Wilmot?" 

"  Why,  as  Maria  has  patience,  I  think  we  may.  I  am  only 
sorry  she  has  such  a  miserable  lot!"  replied  the  father. 

"  And  Isabel  encourages  her  in  the  scheme-^-applauds  it  of  all 


CANVASSING.  237 

things.  Such  an  account  as  Rochford  gives  of  them! — he  was 
down  in  their  neighbourhood  some  weeks  since, — it  is  really 
melancholy  to  think  of  it — they  are  becoming  regular  Metho- 
dists!— teach  charity  children  their  catechism,  and  make  flan- 
nel petticoats  for  old  women!  My  dear  Wilmot,  I  am  really 
astonished  how  you  can  laugh  at  such  conduct." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Anne,  I  think  that  they  are,  of  the  two,  bet- 
ter employed  even  in  '  making  flannel  petticoats  for  old  women' 
than  in  flirting  with  young  men.  By  the  way,  who  was  it  that 
Tiverton  married?" 

"  Lord  knows!  some  nobody  or  other  he  chose  for  her  piety. 
Rochford  wrote  me  word.  I  never  thought  much  of  his  sense, 
— but,  however,  I  am  sorry  now  I  formerly  discouraged  his  ad- 
dresses to  Isabel;  yet  how  could  I  foresee  his  uncle  and  three 
cousins  would  die,  and  make  him  a  Marquis]  I  did  all  for  the 
best,  however,"  said  Lady  Anne  with  a  sigh. 

"  Do  you  know  what  would  have  been  better  than  '  doing  for 
the  best,'  as  you  call  it,  my  dear  Annel" 

"  What?"  asked  his  wife. 

"  To  have  done  nothing  at  all." 

Lady  Anne  paused,  and  then  said,  "You  are  right." 


THE  END. 


New  Works,  pviljlislied  by  Carey,  Lea,  «fc  Blanchard* 


BRIDGEWATER  TREATISES. 


This  series  of  Treatises  is  published  under  the  following  circum- 
stances:— 

The  Right  Honorably  and  Rev.  Francis  Henry,  Earl  of  Bridge- 
water,  died  in  the  month  of  February,  1825 ;  he  directed  certain  trus- 
tees therein  named,  to  invest  in  tlie  public  funds,  the  sum  of  eight 
thousand  pounds  sterling;  this  sum,  with  the  accruing  dividends 
thereon,  to  be  held  at  the  disposal  of  the  President,  for  the  time  being, 
of  the  Royal  Society  of  London,  to  be  paid  to  the  person  or  persons 
nominated  by  him.  The  Testator  farther  directed,  that  the  person  or 
persons  selected  by  tJie  said  President,  should  be  appointed  to  write, 
print  and  publish  one  thousand  copies  of  a  work,  on  the  Power,  Wis- 
dom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  Creation ;  illustra- 
ting such  work,  by  all  reasonable  arguments,  as,  for  instance,  the  va- 
riety  and  formation  of  God's  creatures  in  the  Animal,  Vegetable,  and 
Mineral  Kingdoms ;  the  effect  of  digestion,  and,  thereby,  of  conver- 
sion ;  the  construction  of  the  hand  of  man,  and  an  infinite  variety  of 
other  arguments ;  as  also  by  discoveries,  ancient  and  modern,  in  arts, 
sciences,  and  the  whole  extent  of  literature. 

He  desired,  moreover,  that  the  profits  arising  from  the  sale  of  the 
works  so  publislicd,  should  be  paid  to  the  authors  of  the  works. 

The  late  President  of  the  Royal  Society,  Da  vies  Gilbert,  Esq.  re- 
quested the  assistance  of  his  Grace,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  in  determining  upon  the  best  mode  of 
carrying  into  effect,  the  intentions  of  the  Testotor.  Acting  with  their 
advice,  and  with  the  concurrence  of  a  nobleman  immediately  connect- 
ed with  the  deceased,  Mr.  Davies  Gilbert  appointed  the  following  eight 
gentlemen  to  write  separate  Treatises  in  the  different  branches  of  the 
subjects  here  stated: — 

I.  The  Adaptation  of  External  Nature  to  the  Moral  and  Intellec- 
tual Constitution  of  Man,  by  the  Rev.  Thomas  Chalmers,  D.  D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  Divinity  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

IL  The  adaptation  of  External  Nature  to  the  Physical  Condition 
of  Man,  by  John  Kion,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  S.,  Regius  Professor  of  Medicine 
in  the  University  of  Oxford. 

in.  Astronomy  and  General  Physics,  considered  with  reference  to 
Natural  Theology,  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Whewell,  M.  A.,  F.  R.  S.,  Fel- 
low of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

IV.  The  hand :  its  mechanism  and  vital  endowments  as  evincing 
design,  by  Sir  Charles  Bell,  K.  H.,  F.  R.  S. 

V.  Animal  and  Vegetable  Physiology,  by  Peter  Mark  Roget,  M.  D., 
Fellow  of  and  Secretary  to  the  Royal  Society. 

VI.  Geology  and  Mineralogy,  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Buckland,  D.  D., 
F.  R.  S.,  Canon  of  Christ  Church,  and  Professor  of  Geology  in  the 
University  of  Oxford. 

VII.  The  History,  Habits,  and  Instincts  of  Animals,  by  the  Rev. 
Wm.  Kirby,  M.A.,  F.  R.  S. 


]MISCELLANEOUS. 


MILITARY  MEMOIRS  of  the  DUKE  of  WELLINGTON. 
By  Capt.  Moyle  Siierer,  Author  of  Recollections  of  the 
Peninsula.     In  2  vols.  18mo. 

"The  tone  of  feeling  and  reflection  which  prrvades  the  work  is  in  the  charac- 
teristic niooJ  of  the  writer,  con.*iJerate,  ardent,  and  chivalrous  ;  his  principles, 
as  nii^ht  be  expected,  are  sound  and  indepMident,  and  his  language  is  frequently 
rich  in  those  bi-aaties  which  iiisting  ush  liis  previous  \vriiing.s.  To  us  ii  appears 
a  work  which  will  not  diecredit  its  illustrious  suhjcct."— C//u(e(^  Service  Journal. 

THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  JO.\NNA 
BAILLIE.     1  vol.  8vo. 

This  edition  corresponds  with  the  Library  Editions  of  Byron,  Scott,  Moore,  &:c. 

"Miss  Baillie's  Plays  on  the  Passions  have  been  lona;  known  as  among  the 
best  in  the  language.  No  one  who  reads  them  can  entertain  a  doubt  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  writer's  affections.  Such  works  could  never  have  been  dictated  by 
a  cold  heart." — Cliristian  Examiner. 

'•  We  are  among  thj  most  earnest  admirers  of  her  genius,  her  literary  attain- 
ments and  skill,  her  diction,  her  success,  her  moral  designs,  and  her  personal 
worth.  Some  of  hr-r  tragedies  ha%'e  deservedly  jiassed  into  the  stock  of  the  prin- 
cipal British  and  American  theatres.  They  are  express  developments  and  de- 
lineations of  the  passions,  marked  by  a  deep  insight  into  human  nature,  great 
dramatic  power  of  treatment,  a  fertile  spirit  of  poetry,  and  the  loftiest  and 
p  irest  tnoral  sentiment." — J^ational  Gazette. 

TREATISE  ON  CLOCK  and  WATCHMAKING,  Theoretical 
and  Practical.     By  Thomas  Reid,  Edinburgh  Honorary  Mem- 

j  bor  of  the  Worshipful  Company  of  Clock-Makers,  London. 
Royal  8vo.     Illustrated  by  nurnerous  Plates. 

GEOLOGICAL  ]\IANUAL.  By  II.  T.  De  la  Beche.  In  8vo. 
with  numerous  wood-cuts. 

"  A  work  of  first-rate  importance  in  the  science  to  which  it  relates,  and  whieh 
1  mast  henceforth  take  its  place  in  the  library  of  every  student  in  Geology."— 
Phil.  Jila^azine. 

"  Mr.  Do  la  Heche's  aeoloiical  Manual  is  the  firs-t  and  best  work  of  the  kind, 
and  he  has  performed  his  task  with  a  perfect  knowledge  of  all  that  has  been 
ascertained  in  Geology,  and  with  considerable  judgirtent  and  taste  in  the  man- 
ner of  doing  it.  So  much  geological  science  was  never  before  compressed  in  so 
s;)iaU  a  space." — Spectator. 

HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh.   Octavo 

edition. 

*^,*  The  first  volume  of  this  edition  will  contain  the  sarna  matter  as  the  fir^t 
three  volumes  of  the  18ino.  edition. 

A  COLLECTION  OF  COLLOQUIAL  PHRASES,  on  every 
s'jbject  necessary  to  maintain  Conversation,  the  whole  so  dis- 
po.sed  as  considerably  to  facilitate  the  acquisition  of  the  Italian 
language.     By  an  Italian' Gentleman.     1  vol.  18mo. 

NOVELLE  ITALIANS.— Stories  from  Italian  Waiters,  with  a 
literal,  interlinear  translation  on  Locke's  plan  of  Classical 
Instruction,  illustrated  v/ith  T-fotes.  Fir^t  American  from  the 
last  Ijondon  edition,  with  additional  translations  and  notes. 


New  "Works,  pnlilislied  by  Carey,  I^ea,  &-  Blancliard. 


THE   PREMIUM, 

A  PRESENT  FOR  ALL  SEASONS : 

Consisting  of  elegant  selections  from.  British  and  American 
writers  of  tlie  19th  century.  In  one  small  neat  volume,  ele- 
gantly bound  in  morocco ;  with  engravings,  by  Ellis,  from  de- 
signs by  Westall  and  Richter. 

This  work  particularly  commends  itself  to  school  teachers,  pa- 
rents, and  others,  who  may  be  in  search  of  a  volume  to  pre- 
sent to  either  sex. 

"  A  delightful  little  bouquet  of  '  elegant  extracts,'  from  the  best  writers  of 
prose  and  poetry  in  Great  Britain  and  America.  Tlie  premiums  would  be  a 
prettj-  present  for  young  ladies,  or  students,  emulous  to  be  noticed  pr  reward- 
ed."— Sentinel. 

*'  It  is  a  collection,  or  rather  let  us  say,  a  selection  of  pieces  in  prose  and 
verso,  that  have  real  merit,  with  reference  both  to  style  and  sentiment.  They 
are  choice,  and  will  be  useful  to  improve  the  taste  and  strengthen  the  morals. 
The  autlior  has  done  a  good  work,  and  those  who  wish  to  give  the  most  de- 
serving a  beautiful  and  a  useful  '  premium,'  will  find  the  work  to  which  we 
refer  altogether  suitable." — U.  S.  Qazettc. 

"  Carey,  i.ea  &  Bianchard  have  given  us  a  choice  selection  of  gems,  from 
the  l)e?t  popular  writers  of  the  day,  under  the  above  title.  It  contains  arti- 
cles from  the  pens  of  Crolcy,  Wilson,  Byron,  Mary  Howitt,  Mrs.  Ilemans, 
Moore,  Hood,  Dr.  Bird,  Campbell,  Planning,  Irving,  Webster,  Sprague,  Brain- 
ing, Percival,  &c.  The  volume  is  a  pleasant  one,  and  the  selections  such  as 
their  respective  authors  have  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of." — JV.  Y.  Com.  Adver- 
tiser. 

"  This  is  a  neat  volume  composed  of  extracts  from  the  celebrated  writers  of 
tlie  present  century.  The  selections  are  admirably  made,  and  the  work  is 
got  up  with  unusual  elegance.  The  binding  is  a  beautiful  specimeu  of  the 
i-kill  which  has  been  attained  in  this  important  department  of  book-making. 
Tb3  volume  is  one  of  rare  beauty,  and  constitutes  a  cheap,  elegant,  and  ap- 
propriate present." — Daily  Intelligencer. 

"  A  very  neat  and  instructive  present  for  youth  at  all  seasons." — J\''at.  Oaz. 


A  TREATISE    ON    ASTRONOMY. 

BY  SIR  JOHN  F.  W.  IIERSCHEL,  F.  E.  S.  &C. 

In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  The  present  treatise  is  in  no  wise  inferior  to  its  predecessor :  it  is  charac- 
terized by  the  same  agreeable  and  elegant  style,  tlie  same  facility  of  illustra- 
tion— added  to  which  it  possesses  unrivalled  precisiion  and  accuracy  of  de- 
monstration. Avoiding,  therefore, the  abstruse  niceties  and  the  transcendental 
mathematics  of  the  subject,  the  author  has  nevertheless  produced  a  volume 
calculated,  we  are  fully  persuaded,  to  impress  upon  his  readers  the  magnitude 
and  importance  of  the  science,  and  to  initiate  them  in  no  mean  degree  into 
its  mysteries."— Lit.  Gazette. 


^i%tmoivB  ot  the  <£ourt 

OF  KING  CHARLES  THE  FIRST. 
By  Ltjct  Aikin.     In  Two  Volumes,  8vo. 


New  W^orks,  pubUsbed  l>y  Carey,  lica,  <fc  Blaucbard. 


BRIDGEWATER   TREATISES. 


VIII.  Chemistry,  Meteorology,  and  the  Function  of  Digestion,  by 
Wm.  Prout,  M.D.,F.R.S.  ^ 

THE  FOLLO^VING  ARE  PUBLISHED. 

ASTRONOMY  AND  GENERAL  PHYSICS,  considered  with 
reference  to  Natural  Theolo^^y.  By  the  Rev.  William  Whe- 
WELL,  M.  A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge ;  being  Part  III.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises  on  the 
Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the 
Creation.     In  one  vol.  12mo. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  profound  investigation,  deep  research,  distinguished  alike 
for  the  cairn  Christian  spirit  which  breathes  throughout,  and  the  sound,  irre- 
sistible argumentation  which  is  stamped  on  every  page."— Z>ai/y  Intelli- 
gencer. 

"  Let  works  like  that  before  us  be  widely  disseminated,  and  the  bold,  active, 
and  ingenious  enemies  of  religion  be  met  by  those,  equally  sagacious,  alert  and 
resolute  and  the  most  timid  of  the  many  who  depend  upon  the  few,  need  not 
fear  the  host  that  comes  with  subtle  steps  to  'steal  their  faith  away.'  "— JV.  Y. 
American. 

"  That  the  devoted  spirit  of  the  work  is  most  exemplary,  that  we  have  here 
and  there  found,  or  fancied,  room  for  cavil,  only  peradveiiture  because  we  have 
been  unable  to  follow  the  author  through  the  prodigious  range  of  his  philo- 
sophical survey — and  in  a  word,  that  the  work  before  us  would  have  made  the 
reputation  of  any  other  man,  and  may  well  maintain  even  that  of  Professor 
Whewell." — Metropolitan . 

"  He  has  succeeded  admirably  in  laying  a  broad  foundation,  in  the  light  of 
nature,  for  the  reception  of  the  more  glorious  truths  of  revelation  ;  and  has 
produced  n  work  well  calculated  to  dissipate  the  delusions  of  scepticism  and 
infidelity,  and  to  confirm  the  believer  in  liis  faith." — Charleston  Courier. 

"  The  known  talents,  and  high  reputation  of  the  author,  gave  an  earnest  of 
excellence,  an'd  nobly  has  Mr.  Whewell  redeemed  the  pledge.— In  conclusion, 
we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that  the  present  is  one  of  the  best  works  of 
its  kind,  and  admirably  adapted  lo  the  end  proposed;  as  such,  we  cordially 
recommend  it  to  our  readers." — London  Lit.  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  high  character." — Boston  Recorder. 

A  TREATISE  ON  THE  ADAPTATION  OF  EXTERNAL 
NATURE  TO  TtlE  PHYSICAL  CONDITION  OF  MAN, 

principally  with  reference  to  the  supply  of  his  wants,  and  the 
exercise  of  his  intellectual  faculties.  By  John  Kidd,  M.  D., 
F.  R.  S.,  Regius  Professor  of  Medicine  in  the  Universit^'^  of 
Oxford ;  being  Part  II.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises  on  the 
Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the 
Creation.     In  one  vol.  12mo. 

"It  is  ably  written,  find  replete  both  with  interest  and  instruction.  The 
diffusion  of  such  works  cannot  fail  to  be  attended  with  the  happiest  effects  in 
justifying  '  the  ways  of  God  to  man,'  and  illustrating  the  wisdom  and  good- 
ness of  the  Creator  by  arguments  which  appeal  irresistably  both  to  the  reason 
and  the  feelings.  Few  can  understand  abstract  reasoning,  and  still  fewer  rel- 
ish it,  or  will  listen  to  it :  but  in  this  work  the  purest  morality  and  the  kindli- 
est feelings  are  inculcated  through  the  medium  of  agreeable  and  useful  infor- 
mation."— Bait.  Oaz. 

"  It  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  individual  who  feels  disposed  to  '  vindi- 
cate the  ways  of  God  to  man.'  " — JV.  Y.  Com.  Adv. 


FA^IILY  CABINET  ATLAS. 


The  family  CABINET  ATLAS,  constructed  vpon  an  ori- 
ginal plan:  Being  a  Companion  to  the  Encyclopedia  Ameri- 
cana, Cabinet  Cyclopasclia,  Family  Library,  Cabinet  Librarj",  &c. 

This  Atlas  comprises,  in  a  voluni5  of  the  Family  Library  size,  nearly  100  Maps 
and  Tables,  which  present  equal  to  Fifty  T/icusand  J\ramcs  cf  Places;  a  body 
of  information  three  times  as  extensive' as  ilial  eupplied  by  the  generality  of 
Q,uarto  Atlases. 

Opinions  rf  the  Public  Journals. 

"This  beautiful  and  mosr,  useful  little  volume,"  says  the  Literary  Gazette, 
"  is  a  perfect  picture  of  c'.egance,  containing  a  vast  sum  of  pcoirraphical  infor- 
mation. A  more  instructive  little  present,  or  a  gift  better  calculated  to  be  long 
preserved  i\D'\  cfien  referred  to,  could  not  be  offered  to  favored  youth  of  either 
sex.  Its  rlit-apness,  we  must  add,  is  another  recommendation  ;  for,  although 
this  elegant  publication  contains  100  beautiful  engravings,  it  is  issued  at  a  price 
that  can  b.?  noob.-tacle  to  its  being  prncarcd  by  every  parent  and  friend  to  youth." 

"  This  Atlas  far  surpasses  any  thing  cf  the  kind  which  we  have  seen,  and  is 
made  to  suit  the  popular  libraries  w  liich  Dr.  Lardner  and  Mr.  Murray  are  now 
sending  into  every  family  in  the  empire." — J\Ior.thly  Rcvicio. 

"  Its  very  ingenious  method  of  arrangement  secures  to  the  geographical  stu- 
dent the  information  fur  which  hitherto  he  has  been  obliged  to  rcsorl  to  works 
of  the  largest  dimensions."— j3«Aen^M77i. 

"  This  miniature  and  beautiful  Atlas  is  likely  to  supersede,  for  general  pur- 
poses, maps  of  a  more  expensive  and  elaborate  character.  It  appears  to  us  to 
answer  the  double  \mrpos-  of  exercising  the  attention,  while  it  imprints  all  that 
is  important  in  Gcosraiihy  on  the  memory." — Atlas. 

"  The  workmanship  is  among  the  best  of  the  kind  we  have  ever  witnessed." — 
Exnmi-ncr. 

"  It  contains  all  the  infc-rmation  to  be  derived  from  the  most  expensive  and 
!  unv.-ieldy  Atlas." — York  Courant. 

IHISTGIIY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION    IN   ENGLAND,   IN 

1638:  comprising  a  View  of  the  Reign  of  James  II.,  from  his 
accession,  to  the^Enterprise  of  the  Prince  of  Orange.  By  the 
late  Right  Hon.  Sir  James  Mackintosh.  And  completed  to 
the  Settlement  of  the  Crown,  by  the  Editor.  To  which  is  pre- 
fixed, a  Notice  of  the  Life,  Writings,  and  Speeches  of  Sir 
James  AIackintosh.     In  1  vol.  8vo. 

"\Yc  are  at  length  gratified  by  the  appearance  of  this  long-looked  for  work 
from  the  pen  of*Sir  James  Mackintosh.  Highly  gifted  by  nature,  deeply  read, 
and  singularly  accomplished,  the  view  of  one  of  the  most  memorable  epochs  in 
English  history  could  not  have  been  undertaken  by  any  marv  of  a  capacity  to  do 
it  justice  in  every  respect,  superior  to  this  eminent  indiviu  .uL"— laf-  Oazette. 

"In  every  page  we  perceive  the  anxiety  of  the  historian  to  hold  the  l>a- 
lanco  of  justice  witli  iinfaUehng  hand,  and  to  watch  its  slightest  vibrations." 
— Aihencc'im. 

"The  Sequel  is  highly  honourable  to  the  industry  and  talents  of  its  author; 
and  the  Prefatory  Memoir  is  verv  well  written.  Altogether,  the  volume 
possesses  a  sterling  character,  too  "rare  at  this  period  of  evanescent  publica- 
tions."— Lit.  Gazelle. 

LIFE  OF  THE  REV.  GEORGE  CRABBE,  LL.B.,  with  his 
Letters  and  Journals,  together  with  his  Posthumous  Poems, 
Edited  by  his  Son.     In  2  neat  volumes. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Blanchard. 


TRAITS  AND  TRADITIONS  OF  PORTUGAL,  coUected 
during  a  residence  in  that  country.  By  i»Iiss  Pardoe.  In 
tivo  vols.  12mo. 

"  A  very  singular  and  effective  union  of  the  very  best  properties  which  we 
seek  for  in  books  of  travels  on  the  one  hand,  and  in  works  of  the  imagination 
on  the  olher.'"— Monthly  Review. 

"  The  manners  of  Portugal  were  never  before  delineated  with  so  much  truth 
and  vivacity." — Standard. 

THE  PaSTHUMOUS  POE3IS  OF  THE  REV.  GEORGE 
CRABBE,  with  his  Letters  and  Journals,  and  a  Memoir 
of  his  Life.  By  his  Sou  and  Executor.  In  two  handsome 
vols. 

"  T/iere  are  in  my  recess  at  home  another  Seria  of  Storia,  in  number  and  qucntity  efficient  for  a 
voiumte;  and  at  ihey  arc  much  Uhe  the  former  »n  ixecuticm,  and  sufficiently  different  in  evtutt  and  cha- 
racters, thiymay  htreajter,  in  peaceable  times,  be  worth  something  to  you  ;  a7idthe  more,  because  I  shall, 
vahatever  ii  mortal  of  me,  be  at  rest  in  the  chancel  of  Trowbridge  cAurc/i."— Crabbe  to  his  Son. 

"  The  Life  of  Crabbe  will  be  found  far  more  abundant  in  striking  incidents 
and  extraordinary  contrasts  and  reverses,  than  that  of  almost  any  other  poet 
with  whose  personal  story  we  are  acquainted.  It  will  be  seen  from  his  own 
Diaries,  how  calmly  he  had  tasted,  both  of  the  very  bitterest  adversity— a  des- 
titute and  forlorn  wanderer  about  the  streets  of  London,— and  of  what,  con- 
sidering his  early  position  and  distresses,  may  be  called  splendid  prosperity — the 
honoured  and  admired  friend  of  Burke,  Johnson,  Reynolds,  Thurlow,  Fox— and 
more  recently  of  Scott,  Rogers,  Moore,  &c.  &c.— the  courted  guest  of  the  noblest 
mansions— placed  at  length,  by  the  universal  consent  of  all  capable  of  appre- 
ciating literary  merit,  on  an  ejevalion  second  to  uo  one  among  his  contem- 
poraries." 

THE  BOOK  OF  SCIENCE ;  a  familiar  introduction  to  the 
Principles  of  Natural  Philosophy,  adapted  to  the  compre- 
hension of  Young  People ;  comprising  Treatises  on  all  the 
Sciences.  Illustrated  by  many  curious  and  interesting 
Experiments  and  Observations,  and  including  Notices  of 
the  most  recent  Discoveries.  Embellished  v.  ith  upwards 
of  two  hundred  Engravings  on  wood. 

"  This  work  is  beautifully  ?ot  up,  and  elofrantly  embellished  witJi  exceedingly 
clever  wood  cuts :  it  is  published  willi  the  design  of  affording  to  youthful  minds 
a  brief,  but  yet  perspicuous,  exhibition  of  the  first  principles  of  the  physical 
sciences,  including  accounts  of  the  most  important  discoveries  recently  made  in 
the  several  departments  of  natural  knowledge.  All  this  the  book  professes  to 
do,  and  does  it  well.  We  think  by  the  easy  and  familiar  tone  that  it  adopts  in 
the  descriptions,  it  will  become  a  great  favourite  with  youth."— Jl/e^rp;?.  .l/o^o-. 

"  Here  is  a  familiar  introduction  to  the  principles  of  natural  philosophy.  We 
have  carefully  perused  every  page,  and  every  page  has  afforded  us  proofs  of 
accuracv  and'observation  winch  we  hardly  expected.  There  cannot  be  a  more 
delightful  present  to  the  young,  or  anything  better  calculated  to  refresh  the 
memories  of  the  (M.  It  is  the  book,  of  ail  others,  to  leach  young  people  how 
to  think." — JVczc  Monthly  Magazine. 

"The  present  little  volume  is  so  written,  lliat,  with  moder.ite  attention,  a 
youth  may  obtain  a  very  clear  kuov.Medge  of  each  branch  of  natural  philosophy. 
The  volume  is  printed  uniformly  with  the  'Boy's  Oicn  Book.'  and  may  be  said  to 
be  a  suitable  successor  to  that  little  work.  The  compiler  desen-es  great  credit 
for  the  arrangement,  and  also  for  the  simple,  at  the  same  time,  correct  and 
familiar  style  of  convoying  information.  We  cannot  do  better  than  recommend 
parents  to  .present  to  their  children  this  elegant  little  production."— /Repertory 
of  ^rts. 

"Our  readers  will,  doubtless,  remember  the  'Boy's  Own  Bonk;'  the  present 
volume  is  a  sequel  to  that  amusing  little  work.   It  is  got  up  with  extreme  care, 
and  illustrated  with  an  immense  number  of  figures,  of  extraordinary  neatness 
of  execution." — itlas. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  IRELAND.  By  Thomas  Moore.  Vol.  I. 

is  nearly  ready,  and  the  remainder  in  progress. 
HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  Vol.  IV.    Being  a  continuation 

of  Mackintosh. 


New  "Works,  puljUslxed  l>y  Carey,  lica,  «&  Biancliard. 


Moore's  New  Work. 


TRAVELS  OF  AN  IRISH  GENTLEMAN, 

IN  SEARCH  OF  A  RELIGION. 

With  Notes  and  Illustrations.    By  the  Editor  of  Captain  Rock's 
Memoirs.     In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  Consjclorin"  the  circumstances  under  which  these  volumes  are  given  to  the 
public  we  consider  their  contents  as  amongst  >he  most  interesting  records  of 
which  the  assertion  of  the  human  mind  ever  formed  the  theme."— J»/oHtA//^  Re- 
view. 

"  The  masterly  manner  in  which  Mr.  Rloore  has  brought  together  his  argu- 
ments the  great  extent  and  minuteness  of  his  researches  into  ancient  author- 
ities his  intimacy  with  the  customs  and  traditions  of  other  times,  and  nis 
close  and  critical  knowledge  of  the  ancient  languages,  will  surprise  the  rea- 
der of  his  Travels,  who  may  have  measured  his  talents  by  his  songs."— jfmer- 
tcflii  Sentinel. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWERS. 
With  coloured  plates :  elegantly  bound,  with  gilt  edges :  a  beau- 
tiful volume  for  a  present. 


SISMONDFS  HISTORY  OF  THE  FALL  OF  THE 
ROMAr-r  EMPIRE: 

COMPRISING  A  VIEW  OF  THE  INVASION  OF  THE  BARBARIANS. 


THE  INFIRMITIES  OF  GENIUS, 

Illustrated  bj  referring  the  anomalies  in  the  literary  character, 
to  the  habits  and  constitutional  peculiarities  of  Men  of  Genius. 
By  R.  R.  Madden,  Esq.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  This  is  a  very  valuable  and  interesting  work,  full  of  new  views  and  curi- 
ous deductions  ;  beginning  with  general  remarks  on  the  influence  of  literary 
habits,  on  the  constitution,  and  thence  proceeding  to  make  the  theory  more 
nclunl  bv  its  application  to  particular  instances. 

"  His  physical  biographies,  if  we  may  so  term  them,  of  Burns,  Cowper,  By- 
ron, and  Scott,  are  of  a  very  curious  and  novel  kind  ;  written  with  equal  feel- 
ing and  ob.^ervation.  lie  traces  Cowpcr's  malady  to  its  true  source,  monoma- 
nia on  religious  subjects;  and  the  tone  of  tire  remarks  is  at  once  so  just  and 
so  candid,  that  we  cannot  do  better  than  give  a  brief  portion."— Z,i«.  Gazette. 


THE  LIFE  OF  PRINCE  TALLEYRAND. 

Accompanied  by  a  Portrait.     In  I  volume,  8vo. 

"  How-  could  tlie  work  be  otherwise  tlnn  interesfir?.  when  it  tracM  th«  career  r,f  x  sta'tsmar,  who. 
tho-jsh  now  ,n  Lis  eighty-first  vear,  U»  con.ina-.di.is  i;in'.:^r.ce  in  evjry  E.irnpesn  c?h,net,  who  »c<]v.ned 
pourr  under  the  French  n-.nnarchv,  and  ret:iined  it  under  t-e  RcpulUc,  the  Uirectoiy,  the  Consulate,  llic 
Einpire,  ir.d  the  MyvM-.y  of  Ait:  Ij  %.:d  Ur;fiii6?'-^?rAe..w  <»n. 


New  WorkS)  published  "by  Carey,  liei^  <Sfc  Blauchard* 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

Containing  the  Doctrines,  Duties,  Admonitions,  and  Consola- 
tions, of  the  Christian  Religion.  By  John  Burns,  M.  D.,  F.  R.  S. 
From  the  4th  London  edition.     In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  The  author  has  unfolded  the  principles  of  Christianity  with  much  candor 
and  correctness;  he  has  explained  our  personal  and  relative  duties  in  a  jutt 
and  philosophical  manner;  and,  by  the  ease  and  unafi'tcted  simplicity  of  his 
style,  has  rendered  his  treatise  pleasing  as  well  as  instructive. — His  remarks 
on  brotherly  love,  in  that  part  of  his  work  embracing  the  relative  duties,  pos- 
sess mucli  to  interest." — A  Traveller. 

"The  book  has  a  hich  reputation  in  Great  Britain,  and  there  is  no  being 
capable  of  reflection,  who  has  not  need,  and  upon  whom  it  is  not  incumbent, 
to  obtain  liglit,  and  bestow  concern  on  the  topics  wJiich  are  here  discussed. 

"Every  jiage  that  directs  the  mind  to  what  should  be  deemed  the  main  inter- 
est of  life,  and  causes  operative  thought  in  ulterior  destinies,  is  of  inectima- 
ble  value." — JVat.  OazcUe. 


PICTURES  OF  PRIVATE  LIFE. 

BY    SARAH    STICKNFA'. 

In  1  neat  l8mo.  voL 

''■  The  publishers  deserve  thp,  tlianks  of  the  lovers  of  pure,  chastened  and 
profitable  fiction  for  their  reprint  of  this  charming  little  work.  It  cannot  fail 
to  become  as  popular  here  as  it  already  is  in  England.  It  is  n  collection  of  tales 
and  sketches,  designed  to  impress  upon  the  mind  useful  lessons  of  piety,  virtue 
and  wisdom.  It  is  written  in  a  style  of  unusual  excellence — masculine  in  its 
vigor,  yet  light  and  playful  in  its  delicacy,  and  embodies  several  fcenes  of 
pathos  and  feeling  of  which  Sterne  or  M'Kcnzie  might  be  proud. — To  those 
whose  taste  has  not  been  perverted  by  tJic  flashy  wit  and  nauseous  sentiment- 
ality of  modern  fiction,  we  commend  the  immediate  purcJiase  of  this  delight- 
ful little  work."" — Daily  Intelligencer. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 

TnOUCUITS  IN  VEnss  FOR  EC>;D\T5  and  holy  DATS  TIi;  •VGirOUT  THE  YEAR. 
"  In  r^u'e'.iicss  and  in  ayiifidcr.K  t}ia!l  be  ycur  itrengllt." — Isaiah  xxx.  15. 

First  American  from  tlie  25(li  London  edition,  with  an  introduction  atid 
notes  by  BishojO  Doane,  of  Nov  Jereey.    In  a  handsome  vol. 

"  It  may  be  read  for  purposes  of  (hvotion  by  Christians  of  whatever  deuo. 
mination,  with  pleasure  and  profit." — Christian  IVatchriian. 

"  These  verses  v.-cre  singularly  beautiful  in  conception  and  composition,  aufl 
breathe  tha  purest  poetic  taste  and  the  most  sincere  and  fervent  spirit  of 
piety."— Ga:c.V«. 

"  The  work  should  he  in  the  liands  of  all  v/ho  value  taste,  genius  and 
piety." — Com.  Intelligencer. 

"We  have  rarely,  perhap-;  never,  met  a  poetical  volume,  more  appropriate 
to  family  devotion." — U.S.  Gaztttc. 

"  As  a  book  for  family  reading— whether  as  an  exercise  of  tasto  or  devotion 
— we  know  of  few  that  can  surpass  it." — Gazette. 

A  few  copies  have  been  lx)und  in  beantiful  embossed  leather,  with  gilt 
edges,  making  a  very  desirable  volume  for  a  present. 


A  GUIDE  TO  AN  IRISH  GENTLEMAN  IN  HIS  SEARCH 

FOR  A  RELIGION. 

ViY  the  Rev.  Mortimeu  O'Sullivan,  A.  M. 

1  vol  12mo.     Being  an  answer  to  Moore's  work. 


Ne-w  "Works,  puWisliecl  l>y  Carey,  Ijea^  «fc  Blancliard. 


TALES   AND    CONVERSATIONS, 

OR,  THE  NEW  CHILDREN'S  FRIEND. 

By  Mrs.  Markham,  Author  of  the  Histories  of  England  and 
France.     In  2  small  volumes. 

"  We  conscientiously  recommend  Mrs.  Markham  to  our  readers."— itf. 
Gazette. 

"  Thf!se  volumes  contain  excellent  instruction  in  a  very  agreeable  form."— 
SpectaUtr. 

"We  have  two  neat  volumes,  containing  a  series  of  Dialogues,  by  Mrs. 
Markh.im,  designed  for  the  improvement  of  young  people.  We  have.examin- 
ed  them  carefuliv,  and  can  say  that  we  think  them  well  adapted  to  the  purpose 
of  the  author.  They  are  sufficiently  simple  to  be  understood  by  boys  and  girls 
who  have  just  begun  to  lake  to  their  books ;  they  convey  lessons  well  worth 
the  study  of  all  who  are  yet  classed  among  young  people;  and  they  are  inter- 
esting enough  to  secure  the  attention  of  those  whom  they  are  designed  to  in- 
struct."—  Chronicle. 


MRS.  TROLLOPE'S  BELGIUM  AND  WESTERN  GERMANY. 

INCLUDING  VISIT.S  TO  B.\DEN-EADEN,  WEISBADEN,  CASSEL, 
HANOVER,  &C.  &LC.       IN  1  VOL. 
"  We  have  pleasure  in  saying,  that  we  think  her  style  considerably  strength- 
ened and  improved  since  her  'Tour  in  America."— Quarfer/y  Review. 

MEMOIRS  OF  CELEBRATED  WOMEN  OF  ALL 
COUNTRIES. 

BY  THE  DUCHESS  d'aBRANTES. 


ON  THE  PENITENTIARY  SYSTEM 

IN  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

AND  ITS  APPLICATION  IN   FRANCE: 

With  an  Appendix  on  Penal  Codes,  and  Statistical  Notes.  By 
G.  De  Beaumont  and  A.  De  Toqueville,  Counsellors  in  the 
Royal  Court  of  Paris,  and  Members  of  the  Historical  Society 
of  Pennsylvania.  Translated  from  the  French  :  with  an  in- 
troduction, notes,  and  additions.  By  Francis  Leiber.  In  1 
vol.  8vo. 

"  The  cominissioiiors  appear  to  have  pursued  their  researches  with  much 
industry  and  intellivence.  and  to.  have  rendered  themselves  thoroughly  ac- 
([uainted  witli  the  subjoct." 

"The  translation  of  the  work  could  not  have  been  committed  to  t»ctter 
hands  than  Mr.  Leiber's,  and  with  his  notes  and  additions,  it  fwms  one  of 
the  best  practical  treatises  extant  on  the  causes  and  prevention  of  crime. 
We  siiall  probably  have  occasion  to  recur  again  to  this  valuable  work."— Bait, 
jlmerican. 


HISTORY  OF  SPAIN  AND  PORTUGAL. 

Complete,  in  5  vols.  12mo. 

'  A  work  unequalled  in  modern  English  historical  literature."— .'3</tcJia;jm. 


NeAT  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Blanotiard. 


BEIDGEWATER    TKEATISES. 

CHEMISTRY,  MINERALOGY,  AND  Ti^iE  FUNCTIONS 
OF  DIGESTION,  considered  with  reference  to  Natural  The- 
ology, by  William  Prout,  M.  D.  F.  R.  S.,  Fellow  of  the  Royal 
College  of  Physicians,  bein^  part  eight  of  .the  Bridgc^water 
Treatises  on  the  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as 
manifested  in  the  Creation.     In  1  vol.  12mo. 
"For  depth  of  investigation,  extent  of  research  and  cogency  of  rDasoning, 
this  work  will  not  suffer  in  comparison  with  any  other  of  this  admirable 
series.     The  deductions  from  the  premises  are  strong  and  conclusive,  and 
bear  the  impress  of  a  calm,  philosophic,  and  truly  Christian  spiiil.    The 
valuable  scientific  Inowledge  that  may  be  derived  from  the  Bridgewater 
Treatises,  independent  of  their  gratKl  design — the  illustration  of  th(?  power, 
wisdom,  and  goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  creation — should  secure 
them  a  wide  circulation." — Bait.  Gazette. 

ON  THE  ADAPTATION  OF  EXTERNAL  NATURE  TO 
THE  MORAL  AND  INTELLECTUAL  CONSTITUTION 

OF  MAN.  By  the  Rev.  Thomas  Chalmers,  D.  D.  ;  being 
Part  I.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises  on  the  Power,  Wisdom, 
and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  Creation.  In  1  vol.  12ino. 

"  The  volumes  before  us  are  every  way  worthy  of  their  subject.  It 
would  seem  almost  supererogatory  to  pass  any  judgmen-t  on  the  6ly?'.e  of  a 
writer  so  celebrated  as  Dr.  Chalmers.  He  is  well  known  as  a  logician  not 
to  be  baffled  by  any  difficulties ;  as  one  who  boldly  grapples  with  his  theme, 
and  brings  every  energy  of  his  clear  and  nervous  intellect  into  the  field. 
Mo  sophistry  escapes  his  eagle  vision— no  argument  that  could  either 
enforce  or  iUuslrate  his  subject  is  left  untouched.  Our  literature  owes  a 
deep  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  author  of  these  admirable  volumes.'" — Lit.  Gaz. 

THE  HAND:  ITS  MECHANISM  AND  VITAL  ENDOW- 
MENTS, AS  EVINCING  DESIGN.  By  Sir  C.'jarles 
Bell,  K.  G.  H.  ;  being  Part  IV.  of  the  Bridgewater  Treatises 
on  the  Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested 
in  the  Creation.     In  one  vol.  12mo. 

'•In  the  present  treatise  it  is  a  matter  of  the  warmest  satisfaction  to  find 
an  anafomiist  of  Sir  Charles  Bell's  great  eminence,  professing  his  contennpt 
for  the  late  fashionable  doctrines  of  materialism  held  by  bo  many  anato- 
mif^ls,  and  now  coming  forward  to  present  the  fruits  of  his  wide  researches 
and  great  ability  in  a  treatise  so  full  of  curious  and  interesting  matter, 
expressly  intended  to  prove,  by  the  examination  of  one  particular  point, 
that  design  which  is  imprest  on  all  parrs  of  various  animals  which  in  some 
degree  answer  the  purpose  of  the  Hand  ;  and  has  shown  that  the  hanci  is 
not  the  source  of  contrivance,  nor  consequently  of  man's  supuriorily,  as 
some  materialists  have  mamtaincd. 

"  To  this  h-  lias  added  some  very  valuable  remarks,  showing  the  uses  of 
Pain,  and  he  lias  illustrated  the  work  with  a  variety  of  the  most  admirable 
and  interesting  ^vood  cuts." — British  Magazine. 

ANIMAL  AND  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  considered  with 

rcicrence  to  Natural  Theology,  By  Peter  Mark  Roget,  M.  D.  Being 
Treatise  five  of  tho  Bridgewater  Series  :  illustrated  with  numerous 
cuts. 


NcAV  Works,  iiublished  by  Carey,  Lea,  &  Blanchard. 


THREE  YEARS  IN  THE  PACIFIC,  including  notices  of 
Brazil,  Chili,  Bolivia,  and  Peru.  In  one  vol.  By  an  Offi- 
cer of  the  United  States'  Navy. 

"  The  work  embraces  copious  descriptions  of  the  countries  \isited ;  graphic 
accounts  of  the  state  of  society ;  brief  notices  of  the  histor}%  state  of  the 
arts,  climate,  and  the  future  prospects  of  those  interesting  parts  of  our  conti- 
nent ;  respecting  which  the  citizens  of  the  United  States  are  supposed  to 
care  much,  but  know  so  little." 

"Full  of  novelty  and  valuable  details.  The  American  reader  will  greatly 
add  to  his  fund  of  ideas  concerning  South  America  by  its  perusal." — Chronicle. 

"The  author's  graphic  abilities — iho  pure  :icquaintance  he  displays  with 
the  Spanish  language,  renders  his  book  at  once  pleasing  and  useful." — Gaz. 

"  Such  contributions  to  our  slock  of  ideas  and  literature,  deserve  a  warmer 
welcome  and  wider  patronage  tlian  the  common-place  or  extravagant  fictions 
of  the  da)'." — Nalicmal  Gazette. 

"Much  new  and  valuable  information,  imbodied  in  excellent  language; 
there  cannot  be  a  moment's  doubl  of  its  popularitj'." — Jour,  cf  Belles  Letlres. 

LETTERS  ON  THE  UNITED  STATES.  Letters  to  a  Gen- 
tleman ill  Germany,  Avritteu  after  a  trip  from  Philadelphia 
to  Niagara,  edited  by  Dr.  Francis  Lieber,  in  one  vol.  8vo. 

"  The  mingHngof  an(.'Cdote,  Iho  abrupt  breaks,  personal  narration,  illiislrative 
comparisons,  ami  gencr.il  etyle  of  the  work,  cive  it  an  interest  that  will  ensure 
to  the  book  general  per-.isnl — while  the  philosophical  lone  which  occasionally 
pervades  its  pages  cannot  fail  of  coaimending  ihem  to  the  approval  of  the 
reflectinz." — U.  S.  Oazette. 

"  We  have  read  this  work  with  great  satisfaction  and  interest.  It  abounds 
with  characteristic  anecdotes,  craphic  descriptions,  and  principles  which  do 
honour  to  the  head  and  heart  of  the  author."— JV'at.  Intelligencer. 

The  style  of  these  Letters  i.-^,  in  general,  very  good  ;  sometimes  poetical  and 
eloquent. 

"Here  is  a  well  written  series  of  Letters,  hy  a  learned  German,  who  has 
lived  long  enoug^h  among  us,  it  appears,  to  examine  the  psculiarities  of  our 
government  and  habits,  with  the  impartial  eye  of  a  philosopher." — Baltimore 
paper. 

"  This  is  a  very  agreeable  book— rambling,  spi  iehtly,  anecdotical,  and  withal, 
interspersed  with  much  useful  and  practical  information,  and  keen  and  accurate 
observation."— JVerc  York  American. 

SKETCHES  OF  SOCIETY  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  AND 
IRELAND.  By  C.  S.  Stewart,  M.  A,,  Chaplain  of  the 
United  States'  Nary,  author  of"  A  Visit  to  the  South  Seas," 
"  A  Residence  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,"  &c.  In  two  vols. 
12mo. 

"  Some  of  his  sketches  are  beautiful  descriptions  ;  others  are  finished  pictures. 
Tha  charm  of  these  volumes  consists  in  the  distinct  view  which  the  author 
gives  us  of  the  scenery,  the  country,  the  cities  and  towns,  the  aristocracy,  the 
churches,— in  one  word,  the  thousand  particulars,  which,  together,  eoustituta 
what  is  called  the  state  of  society." — Religious  Telegraph. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  witli  so  pleasant  an  interest.  The  contents 
are  various  and  racy,  epistolary  transcripts  of  the  authors  mind,  published  just 
as  written,  without  revisions,  and  with  all  the  gloss  and  freshness  of  first  and 
original  impressions  about  thiam.     The  work  is  full  of  living  pictures." 

"  His  observations  on  men  and  manners,  in  his  description  of  the  difterent 
scenes  to  which  his  pilgrimage  was  extended,  arc  given  in  a  style  of  the  most 
flowing  and  attractive  kind." — JV.  Y.  Courier. 

THIRTY  YEAHS'  CORRESPONDENCE,  between  John 
Jebl),  D.  D.  F.  R.  S.,  Bishop  of  Limerick,  Ardfert,  and 
Aghadoe ;  and  Alexander  Knox,  Esq.,  M.  R.  I.  A.  Edited 
by  •  >ie  Rev.  Charles  Forster,  B.  D.,  perpetual  curate  of  Ash 
next  Sandwich;  formerly,  domestic  Chaplain  to  Bishop 
Jebb.    In  tAvo  vols.  8vo. 


^tjQCfUaufotiiS. 


NOTES  ON  ITALY,  during  the  years  1829-30.  By  Rembrandt 

Peale.     In  1  vol.  8vo. 

"  This  artist  will  gratify  all  reasonable  expectation  ;  he  is  neither  ostenta- 
tious, nor  dogmatical,  nor  too  minute  ;  he  is  not  a  partisau  nor  a  carper  ;  he  ad- 
mires without  servility,  he  criticises  without  malevolence;  his  frankness  and 
good  humor  give  an  agreeable  color  and  effect  to  all  his  decisions,  and  the  object 
of  them  ;  his  book  leaves  a  useful  general  idea  of  the  names,  works,  and  deserts, 
of  the  great  masters:  it  is  an  instructive  and  entertaining  index."— JVat.  Oaz. 

"  We  have  made  a  copious  extract  in  preceding  columns  from  this  interesting 
work  of  our  countryman,  Rembrandt  Peale,  recently  published.  It  has  received 
high  commendation  from  respectable  sources,  which  is  justified  by  the  portions 
we  have  seen  e.Ytracted." — Commercial  Adnertissr. 

"  Mr.  Peale  must  be  allowed  the  credit  of  candor  and  entire  freedom  from  affec- 
tation in  the  judgments  he  has  passed.  At  the  same  time,  we  should  not  omit  to 
notice  the  variety,  extent,  and  minuteness  of  his  examinations.  No  church, 
gallery,  or  collection,  was  passed  by,  and  most  of  the  individual  pictures  are 
separately  and  carefully  noticed." — .9m.  Quarterly  Review. 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  of  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH,  with 
some  account  of  the  Period  in  which  he  lived.  By  Mrs.  A.  T. 
Thomson.     With  a  portrait. 

"Such  is  the  outline  of  a  life,  which,  in  Mrs  Thomson's  hands,  is  a  mine  of  in- 
terest ;  from  the  first  page  to  the  last  the  attention  is  roused  and  sustained,  and 
while  we  approve  the  manner,  we  still  more  applaud  the  spirit  in  which  it  is 
executed." — Literary  Gazette. 

'In  all  respects  a  most  appropriate  volume  for  the  Cabinet  Library.  We 
shall  take  an  opportunity  in  another  notice,  to  give  some  of  the  many  interest- 
ing passages  in  the  volume  that  offer  themselves  for  quotation." — JV.  Y.  Jliner. 

"  1  he  book  is  unquestionably  the  best  Life  of  Ralegh  that  has  ever  been 
written." — Album. 

"  This  is  a  piece  of  biography  which  combines  the  fascinations  of  romance 
with  the  deeper  interest  that  attaches  to  historical  narrative."— -SowiA.  Patriot. 


ELEGANT  LIBRARY  EDITIONS 

OF   THE   FOLLOWING   WORKS. 


WORKS  OF  JOANNA  BAILLIE.     Complete  in  1  volume  8vo. 

WORKS  OF  HENRY  FIELDING.  In  2  vols.  8vo.,  with  a  por- 
trait. 

WORKS  OF  TOBIAS  SMOLLETT.  In  2  volumes  8vo.,  with 
a  portrait. 


The  HISTORY  of  the  RISE  and  PROGRESS  of  the 
UNITED  STATES  of  NORTH  AMERICA.  By  James 
Graham.     In  2  vols.  8vo. 


New  Works,  published  by  Carey,  Lea,  «&  Blanchard. 


DR.  BIRD'S  NEW  NOVEL— CALAVAR. 

CALAVAR,  OR  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  CONQUEST,  a 

Romauce  of  3Ieiico.    Ta'/o  vols.  12mo. 

"Suffice  it  lo  say,  that  Calavar,  lliroughout,  is  a  romance  of  very  great  inte- 
rest. It  will  interest  the  imaginative  from  its  spirited  and  stirring  scenes  of 
battle  and  blood:  it  will  pleasi.'  tlu;  poetic  from  the  splendour  and  beauty  of  its 
descriptions,  and  it  will  charm  every  lover  of  fiction  by  the  masterly  and  graphic 
scenes  which  it  will  continually  present  to  him."— JV.  i'.  Commercial  Jidver. 

"The  work  may  fairly  rank  among  the  highest  efforts  of  genius,  and  we  do 
not  scruple  to  pronounce  it  superior  to  any  thing  of  the  kind  which  has  yet 
emanated  from  the  American  }^ress:"— Baltimore  Federal  Gazette. 

"  In  our  opinion,  it  is  decidefiiy  the  best  American  novel  that  has  been  writ- 
ten, except  those  enchanting  pictures  of  Cooper,  in  which  the  interest  is  made 
to  depend  on  the  vicissitudes  of  the  sea,  and  the  adventures  cf  the  daring 
mariner.' 

"  The  style  ele-'ant,  sninriently  ornate,  yet  pure  and  cl.issical.' 

"  The  poriod  v.hich  has  boon  judiciously  selocted  by  this  writer,  is  one  of  the 
liighest  interest — a  period  so  crowded  with  important  ovents,  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  contemplate  its  vivid  scenes  without  intense  curiosity  and  wonder."— 
Hall's  IVestera  Monihiij  Magazine. 

"The  unities  are  p'.'rfectly  preserved  tlironghout,  poetical  probability  is  never 
transgressed  :  curiosity  is  satisfied,  and  the  quaint  language  of  three  centuries 
ago  is  sustained  with  unwavering  consistency,  and  with  a  force  and  elegance 
of  composition  rarely,  if  ever,  surpassed.  It  is,  without  question,  the  best 
American  novel  that  haj  yet  appeared."— .V.  Y.  American. 

GRUMMETT'S  LOG. 

LEAVES  FRO.II  .^lY  LOG  BOOK.  By  Fle\ible  Grummett, 
P.  M.    In  one  vol. 

RANDOLPIPy  LI^TTER?^.  I.ottev.-,  of  Jolui  Randolph  to  a 
young  relative,  einbriiciug  a  series  of  years,  from  early 
youth  to  mature  maukood.    li\  one  vol. 

"This  collection,  made  by  the  young  relative  himself,  is  entirely  authentic. 
The  letters  v.'ere  selected  from  among  several  hundred,  as  most  fit  for  publica- 
tion. Every  one  of  them  is  strongly  characlerirtic.  They  are  made  up  of 
C-Tcellent  instructions  to  his  relative,  rerpacting  personal  conduct  and  the  culture 
of  his  mind;  philosophical  remarks;  accounts  of  his  own  situation  and  feel- 
ings; notices  of  his  acquaintance,  &c." — J^ational  Qn-.eHe. 

"The  letters  now  published  exhibit  many  amiable  traits  of  private  character, 
and  show  how  keenly  he  suffered  from  his  own  overwrought  sensibilities! 
They  abound  in  evidences  of  good  feeling,  and  good  sense.  As  fpccimens  of 
epistolary  style,  they  may  be  safely  consulted;  while,  as  furnishing  a  closer 
insight  into  the  views  and  habits  of  a  man  who  was  misunderstoodby  many, 
and  whose  history  i.^  part  of  the  history  of  his  country,  they  should  be  read  by 
all." — Daily  Chronicle. 

CHARLES  THE  FIRST.  Memoirs  of  fiio  Court  of  King 
Charles  the  First.    By  Lucy  Aikin.    in  tv.'o  vola.  Svo. 

"The  admirers  of  Charles  tlie  First,  owe  :\o  gratitude  to  Miss  Aikin.  She 
has  told  too  plain  a  tale.  She  has  given,  it  is  true,  no  summary  of  the  cha- 
racter of  that  monarcli,  but  she  has  devoted  an  cxiensive  work  to  a  faithful 
relation  of  his  public  works  said  action!»,  and  has  left  it  lo  tell  its  storv'." — 
Mhemeiim. 

"Following  up  her  interesting  career  of  an  historical  writer.  Lucy  Aikin 
has  here  produced  one  of  those  episodes  belonging  to  our  national  annals, 
which  add  to  the  importance  of  facls  elaborated  frcm  many  a  source,  all  the 
charms  which  are  usually  fotmd  in  the  inventions  of  fiction. 

"Suffice  it  to  -say,  that  from  family  and  other  papers  long  hidden  from  the 
public  view,  new  lights  arc  ever  and  anon  shed  upon  the  actors  and  pro- 
ceedings of  that  lime;  and  that  without  delving  too  deeply  into  them,  our 
intelligent  author  has  wrought  the  whole  into  one  of  those  agreenblo  nar- 
ratives for  which  her  pen  is  ?o  justly  popular." — Lil.  Gazette. 


1  — ^ — ~.^,™»»-«.~^-=.»-. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 


The  ALHAMBRA;  a  Series  of  Tales  an:l  Sketches  of  tlie  Moors 
and  Spaniards,    By  the  author  of  the  Sketch-Book.    In  2  vols. 

"  \Va  liavc  read  a  part  of  Vv'asliington  Irvin;!,''s  new  Sketch  Booh,  the  ?ccnc  of 
which  is  Spain,  the  most  romaiitic  of  Europr-aii  countries,  and  tho  best  known 
b)^  the  gifted  author.  His  style  has  lost  nottiin^  of  its  peculiar  ciiarni,— his  de- 
scriptions are  as  graphic  as  usual,  and  enlivened  with  racy  anecdotes  and  happy 
reflectio.i.  We  shall  probably  soon  fiirnisli  a  specimen  of  this  work,  from  the 
whole  of  which  we  expect  gratification."— JS'af.  Oaiette. 

The  bravo.     By  tho  author  of  the  "Spy,"  "Pilot,"  "Red 

Rover,"  &c.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"Let  U8  honesily  avow  in  concliision,  that  in  addition  to  the  charm  of  an 
interesting  fiction  to  be  (bund  in  thesf  pngcs,  there  is  more  menial  power 
in  them,  more  matter  that  sets  people  thinking,  more  of  that  quality  that 
is  accelerating  the  onward  movement  of  the  world,  than  in  all  the  Scotch 
novels  that  have  so  deservedly  won  our  adm.iratinn." — New  Monthly  Mag. 

"This  new  novel  from  the  pen  of  our  countryman.  Cooper,  will  win  ncvv 
laurels  fur  him.  It  is  lull  of  dramatic  interest — "  hair-breadth  esc  a;>es" — 
animated  and  bustling  scenes  on  the  canals,  in  the  prisons,  on  the  Rialto, 
in  the  Adriatic,  and  in  the  streets  of  Venice." — A'.  1'.  Courier  (^^  Enquirer. 

"  Of  the  whole  work,  we  may  con.ndenily  say  that  it  is  very  able — a  per- 
formance of  genius  and  power." — A'a/.  Gazelle. 

"The  Bravo  will,  we  think,  tend  much  to  exalt  and  extend  the  fame  of 
its  aijthor.  We  have  hurried  through  its  pages  with  an  avidity  which  m.tist 
find  its  apology  in  the  interesting  character  of  the  incidents  and  the  very 
vivid  and  graphic  style  in  which  they  are  described." 

By  the  same  caithor. 

The  HEIDENMAUER,  or  Pagan  Camp.    In  2  vols. 

SALMONIA ;  or,  Days  of  Fly  Fisliing ;  by  Sir  H.  Davy. 

'  We  are  surprised,  in  meeting  with  an  American  reprint  of  this  delightful 
volume,  that  a  work  so  universally  popular  has  not  been  before  republished  in 
this  country."— JV.  Y.  .American. 

One  of  the  most  delightful  labors  of  leisure  ever  seen  ;  not  a  few  of  the 
most  beautiful  phenomena  of  nature  are  here  lucidly  explained."— Ge?!«.  Mag 

The  NATURAL  mSTORY  of  SELBORNE.  By  the  late 
Rev.  GiLDERT  White,  A.  M.,  Fellow  of  the  Oriel  College, 
Oxford,  with  additions,  bv  Sir  William  Jardine,  Bart.  F.  R.  S. 
E.  F.  L.  S.  M.  W.  S.,  author  of  "  Illustrations  of  Ornithology." 
"  'White's  History  of  Selborne,'  the  most  fascinating  piece  of  rural  writing 

and  sound  English  philosophy  that  has  ever  issued  from  the  press." — ithenaum. 

The  IMECHANISxM  or  the  HEAVENS,  by  Mrs.  Somerville. 

In  18mo. 

'  We  possess  already  innumerable  discourses  on  Astronomy,  in  whicli  the 
wonders  of  the  heavens  and  their  laws  are  treated  of;  but  we  can  say  most 
conscientiously  that  we  are  acquainted  with  none — not  even  La  Place's  own 
beautiful  erpose  in  his  System  du  Monde, — in  which  all  that  is  essentially  inter- 
esting in  the  motions  and  laws  of  the  celestial  bodies,  or  which  is  capable  of 
popular  enunciation,  is  so  admirably,  so  graphically,  or  we  may  a(i<l,  so  un- 
affectedly and  simply  placed  bcfire  us.  *  *  *  Is  it  asking  too  much  of  Mrs. 
Somerville  to  express  a  hope  that  she  will  allow  this  beautiful  preliminary 
Dissertation  to  be  printed  separately,  for  the  delisht  and  instruction  of  thou- 
sands of  readers,  young  and  old,  who  cannot  understand,  or  are  too  indolent 
to  apply  themselves  to  the  more  elaborate  parts  of  the  work  ?  If  she  will  do 
this,  we  hereby  promise  to  exert  our  best  endeavors  to  make  its  merits  known." 
— Lilerary  Qazette. 


SOOTT  AS?B  GOOPSB, 


BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOrr. 


COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS,  a  Talc  of  the  Lower  Empire. 
By  the  Author  of  Waverley.     In  3  vols. 

"The  reader  will  at  once  perceive  thaf  the  subject,  the  characters  and  the 
scenes  of  action,  could  not  have  been  better  selected  for  the  display  of  the  vari- 
ous and  unequalled  powers  of  the  author.  All  that  is  glorious  in  arts  and  splen- 
did in  anus— thf2  pliiier  of  armor,  the  pomp  of  war,  and  the  splendor  of  chivalry 
— the  gorgeous  scenery  of  the  Uosphorus — th?  ruins  of  rA'zantiuni — the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  Grecian  capital,  and  the  richness  and  voluptuousness  of  the  impe- 
rial court,  will  rise  before  the  reader  in  a  succession  of  beautiful  and  dazzling 
i  ill  ages  " — Commercial  Adcerliser. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.     With  a 

Portrait. 
HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND.     In  2  vols. 

"  The  FJistory  of  Scotland,  by  Fir  'Walif  r  ticott,  we  I'o  not  hesitate  to  .leclarc, 
will  bo,  if  possible,  more  extensively  read,  than  the  most  popular  work  of  fiction, 
hy  the  same  prolific  author,  and  for  this  obvious  reason:  it  combines  much  of  the 
hrilli-int  coloring  of  the  Ivanhoe  picturefi  of  by  gone  manners,  and  all  the  grace- 
ful U  ility  of  style  and  picturesqiiencss  of  description  of  liis  other  charmin;:  ro- 
manres,  with  a  ininute  fidelity  to  the  facts  of  history,  and  a  searchinif  scrutiny 
into  their  authenticity  and  relative  value,  which  mipht  p::t  to  the  blush  iMr 
Hum-!  and  other  prof;:ssed  historians.  Such  is  the  magic  charm  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  pen,it  iiasonly  to  touchthe  simplest  incident  ofevcryday  life,  and  it  starts 
up  invested  with  all  the  interest  of  a  scene  of  romance  ;  and  yetsuch  is  his  fideli- 
ty to  the  text  of  nature,  that  the  knights,  and  serfs,  and  collared  fools  with  whom 
his  inventive  penius  has  peopled  so  many  volumes,  are  regarded  by  us  as  not 
mere  creations  of  fancy,  but  as  real  llesh  and  blood  e.vistencs,  with  all  the  vir- 
tues, fufliiigs  ar.d  errors  (if  common-place  humanity."— Li7.  Gazette. 

TALES  OF  A  GRANDFATHER,  being  a  series  from  French 
History.     By  the  Author  of  ^Vaverley. 


EY  3IR.  COOFER. 


THE  BRAVO.  By  the  Author  of  the  Spy,  Pilot,  &c.  Li  2  vols. 

The  WATER-WITCH,  or  the  SKIMMER  or  the  SEAS. 

The  HEADSMAN,  on  the  ABBAYE  DE3  VIGNERONS. 
In  2  vols.  12rno. 

The  HEIDENMAUER  ;  or  the  BENEDICTINES.   In  2  vols. 

New  Editions  of  the  following  WorJiS  by  the  same  Author 

OTIONS  OF 

2  vols.  ISnio. 

Tnr.  WEPT  OF  WISH-TON- VvISH,  2  vols.  12mo. 
The  RED  ROVER,  2  vols.  12mo. 
The  spy,  2  vols.  12mo. 
The  PIONEERS,  2  vols.  12mo. 
The  PILOT,  a  Talo  of  the  Sea,  2  vols.  12mo. 
LIONEL  LINCOLN,  or  the  UlAGUER  of  BOSTON,  2  wis. 
The  LAST  of  tiiu  .AIOIHCANS,  2  vols.  12mo. 
The  PRAIRIE,  2  vols.  12)no. 


Jfe-w  Wovks,  piiblislied  toy  Carey,  Iiea,  d&  Blancltard* 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY  AT  LILIES. 

BY  THE  LORD  AND  L.VDY  THERE. 

In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"Two  delightful  volumes,  various,  graceful,  with  the  pnthos  exquisitely 
relieved  by  gaiety;  and  the  romantic  legend  well  contrasted  by  the  lively 
sketch  from  actual  existence." — Literary  Gazette. 

"  The  author  of  these  volumes  merits  much  higher  praise  than  most  of  the 
pretenders  to  the  palm  of  genius." — Bait.  American. 


FRANKENSTEIN, 

OR,   THE    MODERN    PROMETHEUS. 

BY  MRS.  SHELLEY.       In  2  VOLUMES,  12mO. 

"  The  romance  of  a  child  of  genius.  ^—Canning. 

"  One  of  those  original  conceptions  that  take  hold  of  the  public  mind  at 
once  and  for  ever." — Moore's  Life  of  Byron. 

"Certainly  one  of  the  most  original  works  that  ever  proceeded  from  a 
female  pen." — Literary  Gazette. 

"  This  work  will  be  universally  acceptable." — .^tlas. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  no  modern  invention  which  has  taken  more  thorough 
hold  of  the  popular  imagination  than  Frankenstein." — Spectator. 


WILL   WATCH, 
OR  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  NAVAL  OFFICER. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  CAVEiNDISH,  &C.       3  VOLS.  12mO. 


THE   PRINCESS. 

BY  LADY  MORGAN,  AUTHOR  OF  FLORENCE  MACARTHY  o'dONNELL, 

(fee.    2  vols.  12mo. 


THE  MOST  UNFORTUJVATE  MAN  IN  THE  WORLD. 

BT  CAPTAIN  CHAMIER,  AUTHOR  OF  THE  LIFE  OP  A  SAILOR,  &C.   2  VOLS.  12mO. 


THE    MODERN    CYMON. 

From  the  Jean  of  C.  Paul  de  Kock,  Author  of  Andrew  the 
Savoyard,  &c.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  De  Kr,f  k  is  quite  unrivalled  in  his  sketches  of  Parisi-\n  society.  There  is 
much  character  and  spirit  thrown  into  the  translation,  and  the  dialogues  are 
excellent."— Lif.  Gazette. 

"  A  good  translation  of  a  clever  work.  Paul  de  Kock  painta  to  the  life  the 
bourgeois  of  Paris." — Athenmum. 

"  We  cannot  withhold  our  apnlaiise  of  the  subtle  spirit  of  fun,  the  fine 
dramatic  tact,  and  the  natural  portraiture  of  character."— ^fia*. 


CABXNST   X.IBRAHY. 


JOURXAIi  OF  A  XATURAIilST.    With.  Plates. 

Plants,  trees,  and  stones  we  note; 

13iru3,  insects,  beasts,  and  rural  things. 

"We  again  most  strong:ly  recommend  this  little  unpretending  volume  to  the 
attention  of  every  lover  of  nature,  and  more  particularly  of  our  country  read- 
ers. Jt  will  induce  them,  we  are  sure,  to  examine  more  closely  than  they  Jiave 
been  accustomed  to  do,  into  the  objects  of  animated  nature,  and  such  examina- 
tion will  prove  one  of  the  most  innocent,  and  the  most  satisfactory  sources  of 
gratificati(jn  and  amusement.  It  is  a  book  that  ought  to  find  its  way  into  every 
rural  drawing-room  in  the  kingdom,  and  one  that  may  safely  be  placed  in  every 
lady's  boudoir,  be  h?r  rank  and  station  in  life  what  they  may." — Quarterly  iie- 
nVw,  No.  LXXVUI. 

"\Ve  think  that  there  are  few  readers  who  will  not  be  delighted  (we  are  cer- 
taiii  all  will  be  instructed)  by  the  'Journal  of  a  N'atural'St.' " — Mont/tlij  Review. 

"This  is  a  most  delightful  book  on  the  most  delightful  of  all  studies.  We  art^ 
acquainted  with  no  previous  work  which  bears  any  resemblance  to  this,  except 
'White's  History  of  Selborne,' the  most  t'ascinating  piece  of  rural  writing  and 
sound  English  philosophy  that  ever  issued  from  tlie  press." — jSthcnaum. 

"The  autlior  of  the  volume  now  before  us,  has  produced  one  of  the  most 
charming  volumes  we  remember  to  have  seeu  for  a  long  lime." — J\rcic  JUoni!:- 
ly  J\Iagaiinc,  June,  1829. 

"  A  delightful  volume— perhaps  the  most  so — nor  less  instructive  and  amusing 
— given  lu  Natural  History  since  White's  Selborne." — Blackwood' s  Magazine. 

"  The  Journal  of  a  Naturalist,  being  the  second  number  of  Carey  and  Lea's 
beautiful  eiliiion  of  the  Cabinet  Library,  is  the  best  treatise  on  subjects  con- 
nected with  this  train  of  thought,  that  we  have  for  a  long  time  perused,  and  we 
are  not  at  all  surprised  that  it  should  have  received  so  high  and  flattering  enco- 
miums from  the  English  press  generally." — Boston  Traveller. 

"Furnishing  an  interestitig  and  familiar  account  of  the  various  objects  of 
animated  nature,  but  calculated  to  afford  both  instruction  and  entertainment." 
—J^'askvillc  Banner. 

"One  of  the  most  agreeable  works  of  its  kind  in  the  language." — Courier  de 
la  Louisimie. 

'•It  abounds  with  iiumerons  and  curious  facts,  pleasing  illustrations  of  the 
secret  operations  and  economy  of  nature,  and  satisfactory  displays  of  the  power, 
wisJom  and  goodness,  of  the  great  Creator." — Philad.  Alburn. 


THS  MAKQ,trESS  OF  LONI>ONOERRY»S  NARRATIVE  OP 

THE  liA  i  E  ^VAR  IN  GERMANY  AND  FRANCE.     ^Vitli  a 
Map. 

"  No  history  of  the  events  to  whicli  it  relates  can  ba  correct  without  reference 
to  its  statements." — Literary  Gazette. 

"  The  events  detailed  in  this  volume  cannot  fail  to  excite  an  intense  interest." 
— Dublin  Literary  Gazette. 

'The  only  connected  and  well  authenticated  account  we  have  of  the  .spirit- 
Stirling  scenes  which  preceded  the  fall  of  Napoleon.  It  introduces  us  into  the 
cabinets  and  presence  of  the  allied  monarchs.  We  observe  the  secret  policy  of 
each  individual :  we  see  the  course  pursued  by  the  wily  Bernadoite,  the  temiK)- 
rizing  Metternich,  and  the  ambitious  Aleiauder.  Tha  work  deserves  a  place  in 
every  historical  library." — Globe.  \ 

"  We  hail  with  pleasure  the  appearance  of  the  first  volume  of  the  Cabinet 
Library."  " 'J'he  author  had  singular  facilities  for  obtaining  the  materials  of  j 
his  work,  and  he  has  introduced  ua  to  the  movements  and  measures  of  cabinets 
which  have  iulheno  been  liiddca  from  the  world." — .American  Traveller.  \ 

"It  nny  I'e  regarded  as  the  most  authentic  of  all  the  publications  which  pro-  \ 
foss  to  detail  the  events  of  the  important  campaigns,  terminating  with  thai  i 
which  secured  the  capture  of  th3  French  metropolisT" — J^at.  Journal.  j 

"  ft  is  in  fact  tha  only  authentic  account  of  the  memorable  events  to  which 
it  refers." — JVashviilc  Banner.  j 

"  The  work  deserves  a  place  in  every  library."— PAi/a(ie.';>/iia  Album.  \ 


New  AVorltg,  puWisliedL  toy  Carey,  L.ea,  &-  Blauchard. 


NEW  GIL  BLAS, 

OR,  PEDRO   OF  PENAFLOR.  ♦ 

BY  R.  D.  INGIilS,  AUTHOR  OF  SPAIN  IN  1830. 

IN  2  VOLS.  12mo. 

"  The  whole  work  is  very  anmsing.''— Literary  Gazette. 

"  Those  who  want  a  few  houra  of  pleasant  reading  are  not  likely  to  meet 
with  a  book  more  to  tlieir  taste." — Athcnaiim. 

"The  labor  and  power,  as  well  ns  knowledge,  displayed — the  'New  Gil  Bias' 
deserves  to  stand  forth  to  the  public  view  with  every  advantage.  W«»  have 
read  tb«B9  volumes  with  great  delight.'" — Metropolitan. 


EBEN    ERSKINE, 

OR,  THE  TRAVELLER. 

BY  JOIIX  GALT,   AUTHOR  OF  LAWRIE  TODD,  ENTAIL,  &C. 

IN  2  VOLS.  12mo. 

"  A  clever  and  intelligent  author.  There  is  a  quaint  humor  and  observance 
of  character  in  his  novels,  that  interest  nie  very  much ;  and  when  he  chooses 
to  be  pathetic,  he  fools  one  to  his  bent ;  for,  I  assure  you,  the  '  Entail'  beguiled 
me  of  some  portion  of  watery  humors,  yclept  tears,  albeit  unused  to  the  melt- 
ing mood.  He  has  a  sly  caustic  humor  that  is  very  amusing."— ierd  Byron  to 
Lady  Blessin^tOTi. 

"  One  of  the  remarkable  characteristics  of  Gait,  is  to  be  found  in  the  rare 
power  he  posses-ses  of  giving  such  an  appearance  of  actual  <ruth  to  his  narra- 
tive, as  induces  the  reader  to  doubt  whether  that  which  he  is  perusing,  under 
the  name  of  a  novel,  be  not  rather  a  statement  of  amusing  facts,  than  an 
invented  story." 


BY  MR.  SMITH. 

An  American  Novel.     In  1  volume,  12mo. 

"  The  perusal  of  a  few  pages  of  the  Avnrk  must  impress  every  reader  with 
the  opinion  that  the  writer  is  no  ordinary  person."— JVaC.  Gazette. 

"  His  pages  abound  M-ith  passages  of  vigor  and  beauty,  with  much  fund 
for  abstract  thought;  and  with  groups  of  incidents  which  not  only  fix  the 
attention  of  the  reader,  bat  awake  his  admiration." — Phil.  Gazette. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  mopt  pleasing,  chaste,  and  spirited  productions  that  wc 
have  met  with  for  a  long  time.  Wc  may  claim  it  with  pride  as  an  American 
production."— .Bfl/^  Gazette. 

CECIL  HYDE.— A  novel,   in  2  vols.  12mo. 
"This  is  a  new  '  Pelham.'   It  is  altogether  a  novel  of  manners,  and  paints 
with  truth,  and  a  lively,  sketchy  spirit,  the  panorama  of  fashionable  lile." 
—Atlas. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  JACK  KETCH. 


New  Works,  piilslislicd  l>y  Carey,  Lea,  &■  Blancliard* 


THE    LIBRARY    OF    ROMANCE, 

WHICH    COXSIBTS    OT    A    RBRIEi    OF 

ORIGINAL  TALES,  NOVELS,  AND  OTHER  WORKS  OF  FICTION, 

BY  THS  MOrr  KMIXBNT  wniTERS  OT  THE  AGE,  AND  EDITED  BT 

Leitch  Ritchie,  Esq. 


Vol.  I. 

THE  GHOST-HUiNTER  AND  HIS  FAMILY,  by  Mr. 
Banim,  author  of  the  O'Hara  Tales,  is  universally  acknow- 
ledged to  be  the  most  talented  and  extraordinary  work  that 
has  issued  from  the  press  for  many  years. 

"  Mr.  Banim  has  put  forth  all  the  vigor  that  bolonga  to  the  old  O'Hara 
Tales,  aud  avoided  the  weakness  that  sullied  his  subsequent  eflbrts." — Atfie- 
nmum. 

"  Thero  is  more  tenderness,  more  delicacy  shown  in  the  development  of  female 
character,  than  we  have  ever  before  metWith  in  the  works  of  this  powerful 
novelist. 

"  Banim  never  conceived  a  character  more  finely  than  the  young  Gho.st-Hun-  j 
ter,  Morris  Brady.      It  is  a  bold  and  striking  outline." — Author  of  Eugene 
Aram. 


Vol.  VIII. 

WALDEMAR, 

A  TALE  OF  THE  THIRTY  YEARS'  WAR. 

BT  W.  H..  H.UIRISON,  AUTHOR  OF  TALES  OF  A  PHYSICIAN,  (fcc. 


Vol.  II. 
SCHE^DERHANNES,  THE  ROBBER  OF  THE  RHINE, 

BY   THE    EDITOR. 

"  It  13  long  since  we  have  met  with  so  bold,  spirited,  and  original  a  story." 
— Literary  Oazettc. 

"  We  now  once  more  recommend  the  work  itself,  and  the  series,  of  which 
it  is  a  worthy  volume,  to  the  public."— .-JtAew^Mnt 

"Decidedly  one  of  the  best  romances  we  have  ever  read." — Court  Journal. 

"  Mr.  Ritchie's  Tales  sometimes  amount  to  the  sublime,  either  in  the  terri- 
ble exigency  or  the  melting  pathos  of  the  event,  or  in  the  picturesque  energy 
of  the  description.— Schinderhannes  may  be  esteemed  as  the  best  work  of  fic- 
tion for  which  we  are  indebted  to  his  pen."— „{Z</a5. 


LARDNER'S  CABINET  CYCLOPEDIA. 


HISTOIiY  OF  EXGIiAND.    By  Sir  James  Mackintosli.    In 
8  VoJi.    Vols.  1,  a  and  3  pubUslicd. 

"In  tilt:  first  volume  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh's  History  of  England,  \vh 
And  enough  to  warrant  the  anticipations  of  the  public,  that  a  calm  and  lumin- 
ous philosophy  will  diffuse  itself  over  the  long  narrative  of  our  British  His- 
tory."— Edinburgh  liecicio. 

"  In  this  volume  Sir  James  Mackintosh  fully  developes  those  great  powers, 
for  the  possession  of  which  the  public  have  long  given  him  credit.  The  result 
is  the  ablest  commentary  that  has  yet  appeared  in  our  language  upon  some 
of  the  most  important  circumstances  of  English  History."— ^t/os. 

"Worthy  in  the  method,  style,  and  rcfloctions,  of  the  author's  high  reputa- 
tion. Wevvere  particularly  "pleased  with  his  high  vein  of  pliilosophical  sen- 
timent, and  his  occasional  survey  of  contemporary  annals."— JVat.  Gaietie. 

"  If  talents  of  the  highest  order,  long  experience  in  politics,  and  years  of 
application  to  the  study  of  history  and  the  collection  of  information,  can  com- 
mand superiority  in  a  historian.  Sir  James  Machintosh  may,  without  reading 
this  work,  be  said  to  have  produced  the  best  history  of  this  country.  A  peru- 
sal of  the  work  will  prove  that  those  who  anticipated  a  superior  production, 
have  not  reckoned  iu  vain  on  the  high  qualifications  of  the  author." — Courier. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  NETHERIiANDS,  to  tlio  Battle  of 
Waterloo.    By  T.  C.  Grattau. 

"  It  is  but  justice  to  Mr.  Grattan  to  say  that  he  has  executed  his  laborious 
task  with  much  industry  and  proportionate  effect.  Undisfigured  by  pompous 
nothingness,  and  without  any  of  the  affectation  of  philosophical  profundity, 
his  style  is  simple,  light,  and  fresh — perspicuous,  smooth,  and  harmonious." — 
La  Belle  Assemhlee. 

"  Never  did  work  appear  at  a  more  fortunate  period.  The  volume  before  us 
is  a  compressed  but  clear  and  impartial  narrative." — Lit.  Gaz. 


HISTORY  OF  FRANCE.  By  Eyro  Evans  erosive.  In  3  vols. 

"  His  hi?torv  of  France  is  worthy  to  figure  with  the  works  of  his  associates, 
the  best  of  their  day,  Scott  and  Mackintosh."— .IJojii/i/i/  Jilag: 

"  For  such  a  task  Mr.  Crowe  is  eminently  qualified.  At  a  glance,  as  it  were, 
his  eye  takes  in  the  theatre  of  centuries.  His  style  is  neat,  clear,  and  pithy; 
and  his  power  of  condensation  enables  him  to  say  much,  and  effectively.  In  a 
few  words,  to  present  a  distinct  and  jierfect  picture  in  a  narrowly  circum- 
scribed space.'"— ia  Belle  .^sse-mblee. 


HISTOIIY  OF  SCOTIiAND.    By  Sir  "Walter  Scott.  In  3  Vols. 

"  The  History  of  Scotland,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  de- 
clare, will  be,  iif  possible,  more  extensively  read,  than  the  most  popular  work 
of  fiction,  by  the  same  prolific  author,  and  for  this  obvious  reason  :  it  com- 
bines much  of  the  brilliant  coloring  of  the  Ivanhne  pictures  of  by-gone  man- 
ners, and  all  the  graceful  facility  of  style  and  piciuresqueness  of  description 
of  his  other  cliarniing  romances,  with  a  minute  fidelity  to  the  facts  of  history, 
and  a  searching  scrutiny  into  their  authenticity  and  relative  value,  which 
might  put  to  the  blush  Mr.  Hume  and  other  professed  historians.  Such  is  the 
magic  charm  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  pen,  it  has  only  to  touch  the  simplest  inci- 
dent of  every-day  life,  and  it  starts  up  invested  with  all  the  interest  of  a  scene 
of  romance;  and  vet  such  is  his  fidelity  to  the  text  of  nature,  that  the  knights 
and  serfs,  and  collared  fools  with  whom  his  inventive  genius  has  peopled  so 
many  volumes,  are  regarded  by  us  as  not  mere  creation.?  of  fancy,  but  as  real 
flesh  and  blood  cxisteficpft.  with  all  the  virtues,  feelings  and  errors  of  com- 
mon-place humanity." — Lit.  Oa-.ctte. 


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EXCYCLOPiSDI A  AMERICANA. 


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CAL INSTITUTIONS  of  the  UNITED  STATES. 

"  The  author  is  a  man  of  solid  sense,  frierdly  to  this  country,  and  his  remarks 
have  the  value  ami  interest  of  which  his  character  and  inquiries  authorized 
the  expectation." — JVational  Oazettc. 

TWO  YEARS  AND  A  HALF  IN  THE  NAVY,  or.  Journal 

OF  A  Cruise  in  the  Mediterranean  and  Levant,  on  board 

the  U.  S.  Frigate  Constellation,  in  the  Years  1829,  1830, 

and  1831.     By  E.  C.  Wines.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  The  author  is  a  frentleman  of  classical  education,  a  shrewd  observer,  a  lively 

writer,  whose  natural  manner  is  always  agreeable  ;  whose  various  matter  is 

generally  entertaining  and  instructive;  and  whose  descriptions  are  remarkably 

graphic.    The  greater  portion  of  his  pages  have  yielded  us  both  profit  and 

pleasure." — J\rat.  Oaz. 


VOYAGES  A>D  ADVENTURES  of  the  COMPANIONS  of 
COLUMBUS.  By  Washington  Irving,  Author  of  the  Life 
of  Columbus,  &c.  1  vol.  8vo. 

"  O*"  the  main  work  we  may  repeat  that  it  possesses  the  value  of  important 
history  and  the  magnetism  of  romantic  adventure.  It  sustains  m  every  respect 
the  reputation  of  Irving."  "  We  mav  liope  that  the  trifled  author  will  treat  in  iilie 
manner  the  enterprises' and  exploits  of  Pizarro  and  Cortes  ;  and  thus  complete  a 
series  of  elcant  recitals,  which  will  contribute  to  the  esiiecial  gratification  of 
Americans,  and  form  an  imperishable  fund  of  delightful  instruction  for  all  ages 
and  countries." — J^'at.  Oazctte. 

"  As  he  leads  us  from  one  savage  tribe  to  another,  as  he  paints  successive 
scenes  of  iii'roi?m,  perspvcrance  and  self-denial,  as  he  wanders  among  the  mag- 
nificent scenes  of  nature,  as  he  relates  with  scrupulous  fidelity  the  errors,  and 
the  crimes  even  of  t.'iose  whose  lives  are  for  the  most  part  marked  with  traits 
to  command  admiration,  and  perhaps  esteem— everywhere  we  find  liim  the  same 


undcviating,  hut  beautiful  moralist,  gathering  from  every  incident  wme  lesson 
to  present  in  striking  language  to  the  reason  and  the  heart."— .3»i.  Quafterly 

ieis. 

This  is  a  delightful  volume;  for  the  preface  truly  says  that  the  expeditions 


fer  our  extracts  for  a  week.'"— London  Lit.  Gazette. 


A  CHRONICLE  of  the  CONQUEST  of  GRENADA.     Bjr 
Washington  Irving,  Esq.     In  2  vols. 

"On  the  whole,  this  work  will  sustain  the  high  fame  of  Washington  Irving. 
It  filN  a  blank  in  the  historical  library  which  ought  not  to  have  remained  so 
lonf  a  blank  The  laniruaixe  throughout  is  at  once  chaste  and  animated  ;  and 
the'narrative  may  be  said,  like  Sixmislts  Fairy  Queen,  to  present  one  long  gal- 
lery of  splendid  pictures."— I^nd.  Lit.  Gazette. 

The  ALHAMBRA;  a  Series  of  Tales  and  Sketches  of  the 
Moors  and  Spaniards.  By  the  author  of  the  Sketch-Book.  In 
2  vols. 

"  WelTave  read  a  part  of  Washington  Irving's  new  Sketch-Book,  the  scene 
of  which  is  in  Spain,  the  most  romantic  of  European  countries,  and  the  best 
known  bv  the  gifted  author.  His  style  has  lost  nothing  of  its  peculiar  charm 
-his  descriptions  are  as  craphic  as  usual  and  ^^"li^7"^\^^'>\h ':^f  ^ .^"^^^^^"i^s 
and  happy  reflection.  We  shall  probably  soon  furnish  a  specimen  of  this 
work,  from  the  whole  cf  \vh:ch  we  expect  gratification.  -J\at.  Gazette. 

New  Editions  of  the  following  Works  by  the  same  Aiilhor. 
Ithb  SKETCH  BOOK,  2  vols.  12mo. 

KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  of  NEV/  YORK,  revised 
and  corrected.     2  vols. 

BRACEBRIDGE  HALL,  or  the  HUMORISTS,  2  vols.  12mo. 
TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER,  2  vols.  12nio. 


New  WorkS)  pnblislied  Ijy  Carey,  Lea,  &>  Blancliard. 


THE  MAGDALEN  AND  OTHER  TALES. 

By  Sheridan  Knowles,  Author  of  The  Wife,  Hunchback,  &c. 

In  1  volume,  18mo. 


THE  INSURGENTS. 

An  Historical  Tale.     In  2  volumes,  12mo. 


JULIAN  FARQUHARSON,  or  the  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  POET 
In  2  volumes,  12mo. 


HORSE-SHOE  ROBINSON. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TORY  ASCENDENCY, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  SWALLOW  BARN.    IN  2  VOLS.  12ni0. 

AURUNGZEBE; 
A    TALE    OF   ALRASCHID. 
An  Eastern  Tale.     In  2  volumes  12mo. 


THE    CANTERBURY   TALES 

BY   SOPHIA    AND    HARRIET    LEE. 


"  There  are  fine  things  in  the  '  The  Canterbury  Tales.'  Nothing  of  Scott's 
is  finer  than  'The  German  Tale.'  I  admired  it  when  a  boy,  and  have  con- 
tinued to  like  what  I  did  then.  This,  I  remember,  particularly  aflected  me." 
— Ijord  Byron. 

"  To  read  the  Canterbury  Tales  of  the  Misses  Lee  once  more,  is  a  species  of 
temporary  regeneration.  There  is  scarcely  any  educated  person  of  this  cen- 
tury who  has  not,  at  some  time  or  other,  of  youth,  drawn  a  sincere  pleasure 
from  these  pages.  The  different  tales  have  been  to  many  like  turning  down 
a  leaf  in  life;  we  can  find  our  place  again  in  juvenile  existence  by  the  asso- 
ciations connected  with  them.  The  Officer's  Tale,  perhaps,  was  read  on  some 
sunny  bank  in  a  pleasant  land— a  stolen  pleasure.  The  Young  Lady's  Tale  un- 
folded all  its  intricacy  on  some  fair  sofa  of  a  well-remembered  apartment.  On 
the  German  Tale,  perhaps,  two  hearts  beat  in  unison,  trembled  in  harmony, 
and,  when  sharing  a  muiual  agitation,  two  heads  berit  over  the  mystic  page, 
they  turned  round  to  see  each  other's  fright  reflected  in  well-known  and  well- 
loved  features.  Even  now  we  feel  a  shiver  running  over  the  frame,  as  we  call 
to  mind  the  fearful  whisper  of  the  name  of  Kruitzner,  amidst  the  silent  throng 
of  a  kneeling  congregation  in  the  pathedrg.1.  Such  a  memoria  technica  has  its 
charm ;  and  we  may  be  pardoned  forapproaching  this  number  of '  The  Standard 
Novels'  with  feelings  of  far  more  interest  than  we  take  up  any  new  novel  of 
the  day." — Spectator. 


THE  MAYOR  OF  WIND  GAP. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  o'lIARA  TALES.     2  VOLS.  12niO. 


MY  COUSIN  NICHOLAS.     1  Vol. 
THE  WIFE'S  BOOK.     A  MARRIAGE  PRESENT. 


CABINET  L.IBRARY. 


No  1 -NARRATIVE   OF   THE    LATE  WAR   IN   GER 
MANY  AND   FRANCE.      By  the  Marqvess  of  London 
DERRY.     With  a  jMap. 
No  2— JOURNAL  of  a  NATURALIST,  with  plates. 
A,^o.  3.-AUT0BI0GRAPHY   of  SIR   WALTER    SCOTT. 

With  a  portrait. 
No.  4.-MEM0IRS  or  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH.     By  Mrs. 

A.  T.  Thomson. 
I^rp  D-LIFE  OF  BELISARIUS.     By  I^rd  Mahon. 
MIMTARY  MEMOIRS  OF  THE  DUKE  of  WELLINGTON 
By  auvr.   MoYLE  Sherer,  Author  of  Recollections  of  the 
Peninsula.     In  2  vols.  18mo. 

^f'''\^' n^l^h^be  eipePtc      are  som^    and  indopen.'.ent,  ami  h,.  language  .s 
Service  Journal. 

GLEANINGS  in  NATURAL  HISTORY,  benig  a  Companion 
to  the  Journal  of  a  Naturalist. 

"The  Cabinrt  Library  bids  fair  to  bo  a  series  of  great  value,  and  'f  rccom^ 
mended  to  public  and  private  libraries^  .o  P-J^t"  •  .r.ra^  a"pri""S  wS 
readers  generallv.     It  is  bcautituily  printed,  and  fui nislie<l  at  a  puce  u nicn  w 
place  it  within  the  reach  of  all  classes  of  society: -American  Iravcller. 

"The  S.Mies  of  instructive,  and,   in   their  original  form    ex!^"^;.^;'?^^);°^]^jf' 

highly  estimated.'— .Vationa/  Journal. 
°  MP«r<.  Carev  and  Lea  have  commenced  a  series  of  publjcations  under  the 

stronffly  attractive.   The  mechanical  execution  is  nne,  the  paper  and  tjpograpuy 
excelfent."— JVa5Auj7Ze  iJanncr. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  SIP.  ^^' V;'^,^?  ^ ^If  b4 
witli  some  Account  of  tlie  Period  in  wlxlcli  Ixe  lived.  By 
MRS.  A.  T.  THOMSON.    AVltJi  a  Portrait. 

and  while  we  approve  the  ma 
is  executed."— JLiferari/  Gazette 


page  to  the  last  the  attention  is  ro.isea  ?•>«  susi^iue... 
the  manner,  we  still  more  applaud  the  spirit  in  which  it  I 
Gazette.  \ 


New  Worlcsj  publislied  l>y  Carey,  liCa,  d&  Blaiicliardi 


THE 

WONDROUS  TALE  OF  ALROY. 

THB 

RISE  OF  ISKANDER. 
BY  D'ISRAELI, 

AUTHOR  or  VIVIAN  GREY,  THE  YOUNG  DUKE,    CONTARINI   FliEMING, 
&LC.  &C.  &C. 

TWO  VOLUMES,  12mo. 


LOVE  AND  PRIDE. 
A  NOVEL 

BY  THK  AUTHOR  OF  SAYINGS  AND  DOING8. 

In  2  vols.  12mo. 


NEWTON  FORSTER, 

OR  THE   MERCHANT    SERVICE. 

BY   THE   AUTHOR    OF   PETER   SIMPLE,    &0. 

In  2  vols.  12mo. 


THE    BUCCANEER, 

A  TALE, 

BY  MRS.  S.  C.  HALL, 
AUTHOR  OF    "  SKETCHES    OF   IRISH   CHARACTER,''    &C. 

In  2  vols.  12mo.    From  the  3d  London  edition. 

"TliiB  work  belongs  to  the  historic  school;  but  it  hns  that  talent  which 
bestows  its  own  attraction  on  whatever  subject  its  peculiar  taste  may  select." 
— Lit.  Oazetie. 

"An  adrai-rable  historical  romance,  Aill  of  interest,  and  with  many  new 
TiewB  of  character.  The  plot  is  extremely  well  eonceired,  very  artful  and 
progressine:,  the  story  never  flags,  and  you  open  at  once  upon  the  main  inter- 
est."— JVtw  Monthly  Magazine. 

TYLNEY  HALL—A  novel. 

By  Thomas  IKood,  Author  of  the  "  Comic  Annual,"  &e.     In  2 

vols.  12mo. 

"  At  last,  after  having  been  on  tlje  look-out  for  this  long  promised  novel,  with  much  »uch  impatienre  as 
the  schcoHio)'  watches  for  the  cuckoo,  who  remaining  unseen,  still  beeps  him  in  quest  of  her,  by  uttering 
some  tantalizing  note  close  in  Iiis  neighbourhood.  At  last,  we  have  fairly  laid  hold  of  this  Will  o'  the 
Witp  of  a  book,  the  first  of  its  kind,  but  we  hope  not  the  lMt."-^<'4«njcum. 


CALAVAR; 

OR  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  CONQUEST. 

BY  DR.  BIRD.      2  VOLS.  12mO. 


New  "Works,  published  l>y  Carey,  Lea,  d&  Blancliard* 


Vol.  III. 
WALTHAM, 

▲  NOVEL. 

"  Certain  we  are  that  very  few  of  our  modern  novels  can  produce  a  charac- 
ter more  admirably  drawn  than  that  of  Murdock  Macara,  and  Johnson  the 
quondam  tutor  ;  Mr.  Bolton  and  ilulson  are  sketches  that  no  one  but  a  man 
of  talent  could  have  conceived,  and  none  but  a  master  could  have  filled  up." — 
London  Monthly  Jlagazine. 

"  It  is  a  publication  of  no  ordinary  merit,  is  written  with  considerable  pow- 
er, and  embodies  a  story  of  deep  interest.  The  Library  of  Romance  has 
already  an  extensive  circulation,  and  deserves  still  greater. 

"The  numbers  publisliod  thus  far,  are  devoted  to  works  of  the  best  descrip- 
tion, and  are  calculated  to  entertain  without  offending  a  single  moral  pre- 
cept."— Penn.  Inquirer. 

"  There  are  some  fine  passages,  and  touches  of  strong  descriptive  powers  of 
nature  and  characters." — Bait.  Amer. 

Vol.  IV. 
THE     STOLEN    CHILD, 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TOWN, 

BY   JOHN   GALT. 

"The  autobiography  in  this  volume  is  equal  to  Mr.  Gait's  best  days,  and 
even  his  subordinate  characters  are  worthy  to  be  recorded  in  the  Annals  of 
the  Parish." — Athcntcum. 

"  The  Stolen  Child  is  a  most  cleverly  managed  story. 

"We  do  not  think  anyone  ever  exceeded  Mr.  Gait  in  sketching  national 
portraits— they  are  preserved  as  if  for  a  museum  of  natural  «uriosities." — 
Lit.  Oaz. 

"  A  story  of  «onsidcrable  interest." — Bait.  Oaz$U9. 

Vol.  V. 
THE     BONDMAN, 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TLMES  OF  WAT  TYLER. 

"  A  very  picturesque  and  interesting  story,  and  laid  during  a  period  which 
well  deserves  illustration." — Lit.  Gaz. 

"  One  of  those  stirring  narrations  that  give  a  picture  of  the  times,  and  take 
along  the  reader  with  the  events,  as  if  heVas  indeed  a  part  of  what  he  read. 
This  series  of  romances  has  thus  far  maintained  its  character  for  novelty  and 
raciness,  and  while  the  whole  is  worthy  of  especial  commendation,  each  num- 
ber is  in  itself  a  complete  story."— CT.  S.  Gazette. 

"  The  narrative  embraces  one  of  the  most  interesting  periods  of  English  his- 
tory, and  is  full  of  life  and  spirit.  The  character  of  Wat  Tyler  is  well  depict- 
ed."—.Bo/t.  OazeU«. 

Vol.  VI. 
THE     SLAVE-KING, 

FROM   THE    "BUG-JARGAl"    OF    VICTOR    HUGO. 

"  In  this  abridged  tale  from  Vict;)r  Hugo,  may  the  readers  of  wonderAil  in- 
cidents 'woo  terror  to  delight'  them.  The  attention  is  aroused,  and  maintain- 
ed to  a  frenzied  state  of  excitement  anxious  to  be  satisfied  with  similar  de- 
tails."— Am.  Sentinel. 

Vol.  Vil. 

TALES  OF  THE  CARAVANSERAI. 

THE   KHAN'S  TALE. 

BY  J.  B.  FRAZIEai. 


LARDNER'S  CABINET  CYCLOPEDIA. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  RISE,  PROGRESS,  and  PRESENT 
STATE  OF  THE  SILK  MANUFACTURE ;  with  numerous 
engravings. 

"  It  contains  abundant  information  in  everj'  department  of  this  interesting 
branch  of  hnman  industry— in  the  history,  culture,  and  manufacture  of  silk."— 
Monthly  J\Iagazinc. 

"  There  :s  a  great  deal  of  curious  information  in  this  little  volume."— X.i<.  Oaz. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  ITALIAN  REPUBLICS ;  being  a  View  of 
the  Rise,  Progress,  and  Fall  of  Italian  Freedom.  By  J.  C.  L. 
De  Sismondi. 

"  The  excellencies,  defects,  and  fortunes  of  the  governments  of  the  Italian 
commonwealths,  form  a  body  of  the  most  valuable  materials  for  political  phi- 
losophy. It  is  time  that  they  should  be  accessible  to  the  American  people,  as 
they  are  about  to  be  rendered  in  Sismondi's  masterly  abridgment.  He  has  done 
for  his  large  work,  what  Irving  accomplished  so  well  for  his  Life  of  Colurabua." 
—J\''ational  Gazette. 

HISTORY    OF    THE    RISE,    PROGRESS,     and     PRESENT 

STATE  OF  THE  MANUFACTURES  of  PORCELAIN  and 

GLASS.     With  numerous  Wood  Cuts. 

"  In  the  design  and  execution  of  the  work,  the  author  has  displayed  consider- 
able j;ulsment  and  skill,  and  has  so  disposed  of  his  valuable  materials  as  to  ren- 
der the  book  attractive  and  instructive  to  the  general  class  of  readers."— Sot. 
Evening  Post. 

"  The  author  has,  by  a  popular  treatment,  made  it  one  of  the  most  interesting 

books  that  has  been  issued  of  this  series.    There  ars,  we  believe,  few  of  the 

I  useful  arts  less  generally  understood  than  those  of  porcelain  and  glass  making. 

These  are  comj>letely  illustrated  by  Dr.  Lardner,  and  the  various  processes  of 

forming  dift'erently  fashioned  utensils,  are  fully  described." 

BIOGRAPHY  OF  BRITISH  STATESMEN;   containing  the 
Lives  of  Sir  Thomas   More,  by  Sir   James   Mackintosh; 
Cardinal  Wolsey,  Archbishop  Cranmer,  and  Lord  Burleigh, 
"  A  very  delishtful  volume,  and  on  a  subject  likely  to  increase  in  interest 

as  it  proceeds.  *  *  *  Wo  cordially  commend  the  work  both  for  its  design  and 

execution." — London  Lit.  Gazette. 

The  HISTORY  of  SPAIN  and  PORTUGAL.     In  5  vols. 

"  A  general  History  of  the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  Peninsula,  is  a  great  de- 
sideratum in  our  language,  and  we  are  glad  to  see  it  begun  under  such  favorable 
auspices.  We  have  seldom  met  with  a  narrative  which  fi.xes  attention  more 
steadily,  and  bears  the  reader'sjnind  along  more  pleasantly." 

"  In  the  volumes  before  us,  there  is  unquestionable  evidence  of  capacity  for 
the  task,  and  research  in  the  execution." — U.  S.  Journal. 

"  Of  course  this  work  can  be  but  an  abridgment ;  but  we  know  not  where  so 
much  ability  has  been  shovv'n  in  condensation.  It  is  unequalled,  and  likely 
long  to  remain  so.  *  *  We  were  convinced,  on  the  publication  of  the  first  vol- 
ume, that  it  was  no  common  compilation,  manufactured  to  order;  we  were  pre- 
pared to  announce  it  as  a  very  valuable  addition  te  our  literature.  ***Our 
last  words  must  be,  heartily  to  recommend  it  to  our  readers." — Athcnceuin^ 

HISTORY  OF  SWITZERLAND. 

"Like  the  preceding  historical  numbers  of  this  valuable  publication,  it 
abounds  with  interesting  details,  illustrative  of  the  habits,  character,  and  polit- 
ical complexion  of  the  people  and  country  it  describes  ;  and  aflbrds,  in  the  small 
space  of  one  volume,  a  digest  of  all  the  important  facts  which,  in  more  elaborate 
histories,  occupy  five  times  the  space." — Evening-  Post. 


New^  Workg,  publislied  T>y  Carey,  Lea,  &,  Blanoliard. 


DELOKAINE, 

A  Novel,  in  2  Vols. 

BY  W.  GODWIN,  AUTHOR  OF  CALEB  WILLIAMS,   &C.  6lC. 

"  We  always  regarded  the  novels  of  Godwin  as  grand  productions.  No  one 
ever  more  forcibly  portrayed  the  workings  of  the  mind,  whether  it  were  in  its 
joyous  hilarity  of  happiness,  or  in  the  sublime  agonies  of  despair.  His  tales, 
if  we  may  so  express  it,  have  each  but  one  character,  and  one  end  ;  but  that 
character,  how  all-absorbing  in  interest,  and  how  vividly  depicted;  and  that 
end,  how  consistent  with  its  preliminaries,  how  satisfactory,  and  how  beauti- 
ful !" — Melroiiolitan. 


FORTUNES  OF  PERKIN  WARBECK.— a  romance. 

BY  MRS.  SHELLEY,  AUTHOR  OF    FRANKEXSTEI.V,  &LC.  &.C.      2  VOLS.    12niO. 

"  We  must  content  ourselves  hy  commending  the  good  us©  our  fair 
author  has  made  of  her  materiel,  which  she  has  invested  with  the  grace 
and  existence  of  her  own  poetical  imagination.  The  character  of  Mc«iia 
is  a  conception  as  original  as  it  is  exquisite." — Lit.  Gazette. 

"  The  author  of  Frankenstein  has  made  a  romance  of  great  and  enduring 
interest.  We  recommend  Perkin  Warbeck  to  the  public  attention-  It 
cannot  fail  to  interest  as  a  novel,  while  it  may  impart  useful  instruction  as 
a  history." — Com.  Advertiser. 


ASMODEUS    AT    LARGE, 
A  FICTION. 

BY  BULWER,  AUTHOR  OF  PELHAM,  EUGENE  ARAM,  &C. 

"  This  is  another  admirable  production  from  the  prolific  pen  of  Mr.  Bulwer— 
distinguished  by  the  same  profundity  of  thought  and  matchless  humor  which 
are  so  happily  combined  in  all  his  writings."' — Baltimore  WeekJy  Messenger. 

"Our  readers  have  felt  that  the  impassioned  pen  of  the  author  of  Eugene 
Aram  has  not  lost  its  power  in  these  sketches." — A".  Y.  American. 


"f^inn  Austen's  lao'jrls,  eomplctc 

EMMA,  A  Novel,  by  Miss  Austen,  2  vols. 
SENSE  AND  SENSIBILITY,  2  vole. 
MANSFIELD  PARK, 
PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE. 
NORTHANGER  ABBEY,  « 

PERSUASION, 

"There  are  few  works  of  flciion,  so  acceptable  in  republication  as  the  Nov- 
els of  Miss  Austen. 

"  They  never  weary,  their  interest  is  never  lost,  for,  as  in  the  prints  of  Ho- 
garth, we  find  fresh  matter  for  admiration  upon  every  renewal  of  our  ac- 
quaintance. In  her  works  the  scene  is  before  us  with  all  the  reality  of  the 
world,  and,  free  from  the  engrossment  of  acting  a  part  in  it,  we  discover  points 
of  interest  which  .a  divided  attention  had  overlooked. 

"  Her  merit  considered,  her  perfection  in  one  style.  Miss  Austen  is  the  worst 
appreciated  Novelist  of  her  time.  The  (Quarterly  Review,  (to  its  honor  be  it 
remembered,)  was  the  first  critical  authority  which  did  justice  to  her  merits, 
and  that  after  the  grave  closed  over  her  unconscious  and  modest  genius. 

"  It  is  remarkable  that  Scott,  who  noticed  with  praise  many  inferior  authors, 
never  mentioned  Miss  Austen." — Examintr. 


LARDNER  S  CABINET  CYCLOPAEDIA. 


IT  IS  NOT  EASY  TO  DEVISE  A  CURE  FOR  SUCH  A  STATE  OF  THINGS  (tHE  PE- 
CIINIXO  TASTE  FOR  SCIENCE))  BCT  THE  MOST  OBVIO0S  REMEDY  IS  TO  PROVIDE 
THE  EDUCATED  CLASSES  WITH  A  SERIES  OF  WORKS  ON  POPULAR  AND  PRACTI- 
CAL SCIENCE,  FREED  FROM  MATHEMATICAL  SYMBOLS  AND  TECHNICAL  TERMS, 
WRITTEN  IN  SIMPLE  AND  PERSPICUOUS  LANGUAGE,  AND  ILLUSTRATED  BY  FACTS 
AND    EXPERIMENTS,  WHICH    ARE    LEVEL   TO    THE    CAPACITY  OF  ORDINARY  MINDS." 

Q^uarterly  Review. 


PRELIMINARY  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  OBJECTS,  ADVAN- 
TAGES, AND  PLEASURES  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  NATU- 
RAL PHILOSOPHY.  By  J.  T.  AV.  Herscliel,  A.  M.  late  Fel- 
low of  St.  Jolui's  College,  Cambridge. 

"  Without  disparaging  any  other  of  tlie  many  interesting  and  instructive  vol- 
umes issued  in  the  form  of  cabinet  and  family  libraries,  it  is,  perhaps,  not  too 
much  to  place  at  the  head  of  the  list,  for  extent  and  variety  of  condensed  infor- 
mation, Mr.  Herchers  discourse  of  Natural  Philosophy  in  Dr.  Lardner's  Cyclo- 
pxdia.' — Christian  Observer. 

"  The  finest  work  of  philosophical  genius  which  this  age  has  seen." — Mackin- 
tosh's England. 

'•  By  far  the  most  delightful  book  to  which  the  existing  competition  between 
literary  rivals  of  great  talent  and  enterprise  has  given  hse."— Monthly  Rcvieic. 

"  Mr.  Ilerschel's  delightful  volume.  *  *  *  We  find  scattered  through  the 
work  instances  of  vivid  and  happy  illustration,  where  the  fancy  is  usefully  called 
into  action,  so  as  sometimes  to  remind  us  of  the  splendid  pictures  which  crOvvd 
upon  us  in  the  style  of  Bacon." — Quarterly  Review. 

"It  is  the  most  exciting  volume  of  the  kind  we  ever  met  with." — Monthly 
Magazine. 

"  One  of  the  most  instructive  and  delightful  books  we  have  ever  perused."— 
U.  S.  Journal. 


A    TREATISE    ON    MECHANICS.     By  Capt.  Kater,  aiid  tlic 
Rev.  Dionysius  Lardiier.    AVitli  iiiiixierous  engravings. 

"  A  work  which  contains  an  uncommon  amount  of  useful  information,  ex- 
hibited in  a  plain  and  very  intelligible  form." — Olmsted's  JVat.  Philosophy. 

"This  volume  has  been  lately  published  in  England,  as  a  part  of  Dr.  Lardner's 
Cabinet  Cyclopaedia,  and  has  received  the  unsolicited  approbation  of  the  most 
eminent  men  of  science,  and  the  most  discriminating  journals  and  reviews,  in 
the  British  metropolis. — It  is  written  in  a  popular  and  intelligible  style,  entirely 
free  from  mathemntical  symbols,  and  disencumbered  as  far"  as  possible  of  tech- 
nical phrases." — Boston  Traveller. 

"  Admirable  in  development  and  clear  in  principles,  and  especially  felicitous  in 
illustration  from  familiar  subjects." — Monthly  Mag. 


OUTLINES  OF  HISTORY,  from  thi 
present  time. 


earliest  period  to  the 


A    TREATISE    ON    HYDROSTATICS    AND    PNEUMATICS. 
By  th.e  Rev.  D.  Lardiicr.    "Witli  numerous  engraviugs. 

"  It  fully  siistairs  the  favorable  opinion  we  have  already  expressed  as  to  this 
valuable  compendium  of  modern  science." — Lit.  Gazette. 

"  Dr.  Lardner  has  made  a  good  use  of  his  acquaintai  ce  with  the  familiar  facts 
which  illustrate  the  principles  of  science." — Monthly  Magazine. 

*'  It  is  written  with  a  full  knowledse  of  the  subject,  and  in  a  popular  style, 
abounding  in  practical  illustrations  of  the  abstruse  operations  of  these  impor- 
tant sciences." — U.  S.  Journal. 


TUB  PHOPIiXS'S  ZiZBRAHY. 

"  The  editors  and  publishers  should  receive  the  thanks  of  the  present 
generation,  and  the  gratitude  of  posterity,  for  being  the  first  to  prepare  in 
this  language  what  deserves  to  be  entitled  not  the  ENCYCLOP.'EDIA 
AMERICANA,  but  the  peoplk's  lierarv."— A'.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

Just  Published,  by  Carey,  Lea,  and  Blanchard, 

And  sold  in  Philadelphia  by  E.  L.  Carey  ^  A.  Hart ;  in  New- York  bv 
G.  4'  C.  4-  H.  Carvill ;  in  Boston  by  Carler  <^  Henrlee ;  in  Baltimore  by  E. 
J.  Coale,  (^  W.  ^  J.  Nml;  in  Washington  bv  Tlicmpsnn  4'  Hornans ;  in 
Richmond  by  JH-  Nash  ;  in  Savannah  by  \V.  T.  Williams;  in  Charleston 
by  W.  H.  Berrett;  in  rs'ew-Orleans  by  IV.  M'Kran;  in  Mobile  by  Odiorne 
4'  Smith  ;  and  by  the  principal  booksellers  throughout  the  Union. 


ENCYCLOPiEDIA  AMERICANA: 

A 

POPULAR  DICTIONARY 

OF 

ARTS,  SCIENCES,  LITERATURE,  HISTORY,  AND  POLITICS, 

BROCGHT    DOWN    TO    THE    PRESENT    TIME,    AND    INCLUDINO   A    COPIOUS 
COLLECTION    OF    ORIGINAL    ARTICLES    IN 

AMERICAN  BIOGRAPHY: 

On  the  basis  of  the  Seventh  Edition  of  the  German 

COXYERSA  TIONS-LEXICON. 


Edited  by  FRANCIS  LIEBER, 

ASSISTED    BY 

EDWARD  WIGGLESWORTH  and  T.  G.  BRADFORD,  Esqrs. 


IN  THIRTEEN  LARGE  VOLUMES,  OCTAVO,  PRICE   TO   SUBSCRIBERS, 
BOUND  IN  CLOTH,  TWO  DOLLARS  AND  A  HALF  EACH. 
EACH   VOLUME   WILL    CONTAIN    BETWEEN   600    AND    700   PAGES. 


"THE  WORLD- RENOWNED  CONVERSATIONS-LEXICON."— i:(Zin>J«r^A 
Review. 

"  To  supersede  cumbrous  Encyclopaedias,  and  put  within  the  reach  of  the  poor- 
est man.  a  complete  library,  equal  to  about  forty  or  fifty  pood-sized  octavos,  em- 
braciiij»  every  possible  subject  of  interest  to  the  uuuiber  of  20,(00  in  all— provided 
lin  can  spare  either  from  his  earnings  or  hi.^  extravacancies.  twenty  cents  a  week, 
for  three  years,  a  library  so  contrived,  as  to  be  equally  suited  to  the  learned  and 
the  unlearned, — the  mechanic— the  merchant,  and  the  professional  man." — JV.  Y. 
Courier  and  Inquirer. 

"  7'he  reputation  of  this  valuable  work  has  augmented  with  each  volume  ;  and 
if  the  unanimous  opinion  of  tho  press,  uttered  frnm  all  quarters,  be  true,  which 
in  this  instance  happ<jns  to  be  the  case,  it  is  indeed  one  of  the  best  of  publica- 
tions. It  should  be  in  the  possession  of  every  inteliiirent  man.  as  it  is  a  library 
in  itself,  comprising  an  immense  mass  of  lore  upon  almost  every  possible  sub- 
joct,  and  in  the  cheapest  possible  form.'— JV.  Y.  Mirror. 


Ji^-w  Wortcg,  puljlislied  toy  Carey,  I^ea,  &,  Blanchard* 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  GERMAN  LIFE. 
In  2  Vols.  12mo. 

"  The  pictures  here  given  of  German  life  have  an  interest  which  to  us  is  per- 
fectly irresistible." — Sunday  Times. 

"  The  work  under  our  notice  has  great  claims  to  the  consideration  of  every 
reader  who  likes  good  tales,  in  which  he  will  find  svery  thing  in  keeping."— 
Mttrojiolitan. 

"These  most  original  stories  are  replete  with  incidents,  scenes,  and  char- 
acters that  will  dwell  upon  the  mind  they  have  amused;  some  of  them  have 
the  conciseness,  wit,  and  satirical  point,  of  Voltaire's  sparkling  romance,  but 
without  their  mockery  of  all  that  is  sacred  and  virtuous.  We  rise  from  their 
perusal  with  our  hearts  warmed  for  our  fellow-men,  and  with  our  lov«  and 
interest  increased  for  this  world." — Court  Magaiint. 


THE    LAST    MAN. 

BY  MRS.  SHELLEY,  AUTHOR  OF  FRANKENSTEIN,  &C.  2  VOLS.  12mO. 


DELAWARE, 

OR,    THE    RUINED    FAMILY. 

A  Novel,  in  2  Vols.  12mo. 

"  Delaware  is  a  work  of  talent  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  The  plot  is  full 
of  interest,  the  characters  are  sketched  with  vitality  and  vigor,  and  the 
style  is  neat  and  flowing  throughout." — Edinburgh  Evening  Post. 

"  Delaware  is  a  tale  of  much  amusement  and  interest.  We  heartily  com- 
mend it  to  our  readers  as  a  very  pleasant  and  very  clever  work." — Lit.  Ga- 
zette. 

"Delaware  is  an  original  novel  hy  an  able  man."— Spectator. 

"  The  story  is  well  told,  the  characters  clearly  unfolded,  and  the  conclusion 
natural  and  satisfactory." — Athenmum. 


LONDON  NIGHTS  ENTERTAINMENTS, 

OR,  TALES  AND  CONFESSIONS. 

By  Leitch  Ritchie,  Author  of  Schinderhannes,  &c. 

In  2  Vols.  12mo. 

"This  work  is  supposed  by  eminent  critics  to  be  the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  the 
author." 

"  Mr.  Ritchie  is  by  far  our  best  writer  of  romantic  and  imaginative  tales," 
was  the  dictum  of  the  Literary  Gazette— and  the  Atlas  pronounces  him  "  the 
Scott  of  the  short,  picturesque,  and  bold  story." 

"  The  power  of  fascinating  the  reader,  of  chaining  him. down,  as  it  were, 
while  his  fancy  is  tormented  by  terrible  imaginings,  is  the  principal  character- 
istic of  Mr.  Leitch  Ritchie's  pictures." — London  Weekly  Review. 


THE    REPEALERS. 

A  Novel.     By  the  Countess  of  Blessington. 
In  2  Vols.  12mo. 

"  The  Irish  scenes  are  entitled  to  warm  commendation,  they  are  written 
with  equal  good  feeling  and  good  sense  ;  while  Grace  Cassidy  is  a  sweet  and 
touching  portrait,"  &c.  &c — Lit.  Gazette. 


Date  Due 

JWl  2fi 

1^    ; 

Form  335.      25M 

— 7-38— S 

/ 


823.79      B217CA      372893 


I 


^'9C''0>^ 


